Cross Path
by deepwater1978
Summary: We don't meet people by accident. They are meant to cross our path for a reason.
1. Chapter 1

Thirty thousand hotel rooms in the city of Chicago, and Elena Gilbert had managed to find one next door to a couple having a sex marathon.

"Yes! Oh yes! YES!"

Elena pulled the pillow over her head, thinking—as she had been thinking for the past hour and a half—that it had to end sometime. It was after three o'clock in the morning, and while she certainly had nothing against a good round of raucous hotel sex, this particular round had gone beyond raucous and into the ridiculous about fourteen "oh-God-oh-God-oh-Gods" ago. More important, even with the discounted rate they gave federal employees, overnights at the Peninsula weren't typically within the monthly budget of an assistant U.S. attorney, and she was starting to get seriously pissed that she couldn't get a little peace and quiet.

Bam! Bam! Bam! The wall behind the king-sized bed shook with enough force to rattle her headboard, and Elena cursed the hardwood floors that had brought her to such circumstances.

Earlier in the week, when the contractor had told her that she would need to stay off her refinished floors for twenty-four hours, she had decided to treat herself to some much-needed pampering. Just last week she had finished a gruelling three-month racketeering trial against eleven defendants charged with various organized criminal activities, including seven murders and three attempted murders. The trial had been mentally exhausting for everyone involved, particularly her and the other assistant U.S. attorney who had prosecuted the case. So when she had learned that she needed to be out of her house while the floors dried, she had seized on the opportunity to turn it into a weekend getaway.

Maybe other people would have gone somewhere more distant or exotic than a hotel three miles from home, but all Elena had cared about was getting an incredibly overpriced but fantastically rejuvenating massage, followed by a tranquil night of R&R, and then in the morning a brunch buffet (again incredibly overpriced) where she could stuff herself to the point where she remembered why she made it a general habit to stay away from brunch buffets. And the perfect place for that was the Peninsula.

Or so she had thought.

"Such a big, bad man! Right there, oh yeah—right there, don't stop!"

The pillow over her head did nothing to drown out the woman's voice. Elena closed her eyes in a silent plea. _Dear Mr. Big and Bad: Whatever the hell you are doing, don't you move from that spot until you get the job done,_ she said to herself. She hadn't prayed so hard for an orgasm since the first—and last—time she had slept with Elijah, the corporate wine buyer/artist who wanted to "find his way" but who didn't seem to have a clue how to find his way around the key parts of the female body.

The moaning that had started around 1:30 A.M. was what had woken her up. In her groggy state, her first thought had been that someone in the room next door was sick. But quickly following those moans had been a second person's moans, and then came the panting and the wall-banging and the hollering and then that part that sounded suspiciously like a butt cheek being spanked, and somewhere around that point she had clued into the true goings-on of room 1308.

The bed in the room next door increased its tempo against the wall, and the squeaking of the mattress reached a new, feverish pitch. Despite her annoyance, Elena had to give the guy credit, whoever he was, for having some serious staying power. Perhaps it was one of those Viagra situations, she mused. She had heard somewhere that one little pill could get a man up and running for over four hours.

She yanked the pillow off her head and peered through the darkness at the clock on the nightstand next to the bed: 3:17. If she had to endure another two hours and fifteen minutes of this stuff, she just might have to kill someone—starting with the front desk clerk who had put her in this room in the first place. Weren't hotels supposed to skip the thirteenth floor, anyway? Right now, Elena was wishing she was a more superstitious person and had asked to be assigned another room.

In fact, right now she was wishing she had never come up with the whole weekend getaway idea and instead had just spent the night at Matt's or Caroline's. At least then she would be asleep instead of listening to the cacophonous symphony of grunting and squealing—oh yes, the girl was actually squealing now—that was the current soundtrack of her life. Plus, Matt made a mean cheddar and tomato egg-white omelette that, while likely not quite the equivalent of the delicacies one might find at the Peninsula buffet, would have reminded her why she had made it a general habit to let him do all the cooking when the three of them lived together their senior year of college.

Wheewammawamma-BAM! Wheewammawamma-BAM!

Elena sat up in bed and looked at the phone on the nightstand. She didn't want to be that kind of guest that complained about every little blemish in the hotel's five-star service. But the noise from the room next door had been going on for a long time now and at a certain point, she felt as though she was entitled to some sleep in her nearly four-hundred-dollar-per-night room. The only reason the hotel hadn't already received complaints, she guessed, was due to the fact that 1308 was a corner room with no one on the other side.

Elena was just about to pick up the phone to call the front desk when, suddenly, she heard the man next door call out the glorious sounds of her salvation.

Smack! Smack!

"Oh shit, I'm coming!"

A loud groan. And then—

Blessed silence. Finally.

Elena fell back onto the bed. _Thank you, thank you, Peninsula hotel gods, for granting me this tiny reprieve,_ she thought. _I shall never again call your massages incredibly overpriced. Even if we all know it doesn't cost $195 to rub lotion on someone's back. Just saying._

She crawled under the covers and pulled the cream down duvet up to her chin. Her head sank into the pillows and she lay there for a few minutes as she began to drift off. Then she heard another noise next door—the sound of the door shutting.

Elena tensed.

And then—

Nothing.

All remained blissfully still and silent, and her final thought before she fell asleep was on the significance of the sound of the door shutting.

She had a sneaking suspicion that somebody had just received a five-star booty call.

BAM!

Elena shot up in bed, the sound from next door waking her right out of her sleep. She heard muffled squealing and the bed slammed against the wall again—harder and louder than ever—as if its occupants were really going at it this time.

She looked at the clock: 4:08. She had been given a whopping thirty-minute reprieve.

Not wasting another moment—frankly, she had already given these jokers far too much of her valuable sleep time—she reached over and turned on the lamp next to the bed. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the sudden burst of light. Then she grabbed the phone off the nightstand and dialled.

After one ring, a man answered pleasantly on the other end. "Good evening, Miss Gilbert. Thank you for calling Guest Services—how may we be of assistance?"

Elena cleared her throat, her voice still hoarse as her words tumbled out. "Look, I don't want to be a jerk about this, but you guys have got to do something about the people in room 1308. They keep banging against the wall; there has been all sorts of moaning and shouting and spanking and it has been going on for, like, the last two hours. I have barely slept this entire night and it sounds like they are gearing up for round twenty or whatever, which is great for them but not so much for me, and I'm kind of at the point where enough is enough, you know?"

The voice on the other end was wholly unfazed, as if Guest Services at the Peninsula handled the fallout from five-star booty calls all the time.

"Of course, Miss Gilbert. I apologize for the inconvenience. I will send up security to take care of the problem right away."

"Thanks," Elena grumbled, not yet willing to be pacified that easily. She planned to speak to the manager in the morning, but for now all she wanted was a quiet room and some sleep.

She hung up the phone and waited. A few moments passed, then she glanced at the wall behind the bed. Things had fallen strangely silent in room 1308. She wondered if the occupants had heard her calling Guest Services to complain. Sure, the walls were thin (as she definitely had discovered firsthand), but were they that thin?

She heard the door to room 1308 open.

The bastards were making their escape.

Elena flew out of bed and ran to her door, determined to at least get a look at the sex fiends. She pressed against the door and peered through the peephole just as the door to the other room shut. For a brief moment, she saw no one. Then—

A man stepped into view.

He moved quickly, appearing slightly distorted through the peephole. He had his back towards her as he passed by her room, so Elena didn't get the greatest look. She didn't know what the typical sex fiend looked like, but this particular one was on the taller side and stylish in his jeans, black corduroy blazer, and grey hooded T-shirt. He wore the hood pulled up, which was kind of unusual. As the man crossed the hallway and pushed open the door to the stairwell, something struck her as oddly familiar. But then he disappeared into the stairwell before she could place it.

Elena pulled away from the door. Something very strange was going on in room 1308…Maybe the man had fled the scene because he had heard her call Guest Services and was abandoning his partner to deal with the fallout alone. A married man, perhaps? Regardless, the woman in 1308 was going to have some serious explaining to do once hotel security arrived. Elena figured—since she already was awake, that was—that she might as well just sit it out right there at the peephole and catch the final act. Not that she was eavesdropping or anything, but…okay, she was eavesdropping.

She didn't have to wait long. Two men dressed in suits, presumably hotel security, arrived within the next minute and knocked on the door to 1308. Elena watched through the peephole as the security guards stared expectantly at the door, then shrugged at each other when there was no answer.

"Should we try again?" the shorter security guard asked.

The second guy nodded and knocked on the door. "Hotel security," he called out.

No response.

"Are you sure this is the right room?" asked the second guy.

The first guy checked the room number, then nodded. "Yep. The person who complained said the noise was coming from room 1308."

He glanced over at Elena's room. She took a step back as if they could see her through the door. She suddenly felt very aware of the fact that she was wearing only her University of Michigan T-shirt and underwear.

There was a pause.

"Well, I don't hear a thing now," Elena heard the first guy say. He banged on the door a third time, louder still. "Security! Open up!"

Still nothing.

Elena moved back to the door and looked out the peephole once again. She saw the security guards exchange looks of annoyance.

"They're probably in the shower," said the shorter guy.

"Probably going at it again," the other one agreed.

The two men pressed their ears to the door. On her side of the door, Elena listened for any sound of a shower running in the next room but heard nothing.

The taller security guard sighed. "You know the protocol—we have to go in." Out of his pocket he pulled what presumably was some sort of master key card. He slid it into the lock and cracked open the door.

"Hello? Hotel security—anyone in here?" he called into the room.

He looked over his shoulder at his partner and shook his head. Nothing. He stepped farther in and gestured for the second guy to follow. Both men disappeared into the room, out of Elena's view, and the door slammed shut behind them.

There was a momentary pause, then Elena heard one of the security men cry out through the adjoining wall.

"Holy shit!"

Her stomach dropped. She knew then that whatever had happened in 1308, it wasn't good. Uncertain what she should do, she pressed her ear to the wall and listened.

"Try CPR while I call 9-1-1!" one of the men shouted.

Elena flew off the bed—she knew CPR—and raced to the door. She threw it open just as the shorter security guy was running out of 1308.

Seeing her, he held up his hand, indicating she should stop right where she was. "Ma'am—please get back in your room."

"But I heard—I thought I could help, I—"

"We have got it covered, ma'am. Now please step back into your room." He rushed off.

Per the security's guard order, Elena remained in her doorway. She looked around and saw that other people in the nearby rooms had heard the commotion and were peering into the hallway with mixed expressions of trepidation and curiosity.

After what seemed like forever but what was probably only minutes, the shorter guy returned leading a pair of paramedics pulling a gurney.

As the trio raced past Elena, she overheard the security guard explaining the situation. "We found her lying there on the bed…She was nonresponsive so we began CPR but it doesn't look good…"

By this time, additional staff had arrived on the scene, and a woman in a grey suit identified herself as the hotel manager and asked everyone to remain in their rooms. Elena overheard her tell the other members of the staff to keep the hallway and elevator bank clear. The thirteenth floor guests spoke amongst themselves in low murmurs, and Elena caught snippets of conversations as a guest from one room would ask another if he or she knew what was happening.

A hush fell over the crowd when the paramedics reappeared in the doorway of room 1308. They moved quickly, pulling the gurney out into the hall.

This time, there was a person on that gurney.

As they hurried past Elena, she caught a glimpse of the person—a quick glimpse, but enough to see that it was a woman, and also enough to see that she had long red hair that fanned out in stark contrast to the white of both the sheet on the gurney and the hotel bathrobe she wore. And, she saw enough to see that the woman wasn't moving.

While one of the paramedics pushed the gurney, the other ran alongside it, pumping oxygen through a handheld mask that covered the woman's face. The two security guards raced ahead of the paramedics, making sure the hallway was clear. Elena—and apparently several of the other hotel guests as well—overheard the shorter guard saying something to the other about the police being on their way.

At the mention of the police, a minor commotion broke out. The hotel guests demanded to know what was happening.

The manager spoke above the fray. "I certainly understand that all of you have concerns, and I offer you our sincerest apologies for the disturbance." She addressed them in a calm, genteel tone that was remarkably similar to that of the man from Guest Services who Elena had spoken on the phone with earlier. She wondered if they all talked that way to each other when no customers were around, or if they dropped the charm routine and that vague, quasi-European-even-though-I'm-from-Wisconsin accent the minute they hit the lunchroom.

"Unfortunately, at this point I can tell you only that the situation, obviously, is very serious and may be criminal in nature," the manager continued. "We will be turning this matter over to the police, and we ask that everyone remain in their rooms until they arrive and assess the situation. It's likely the police will want to speak with some of you."

The manager's gaze fell directly upon Elena. As the crowd fell back into their murmurs and whispers, she walked over. "Miss Gilbert, is it?"

Elena nodded. "Yes."

The manager gestured to the door. "Would you mind if I escorted you back into your room, Miss Gilbert?" This was Polite-Peninsula-Hotel-speak for "You might as well get comfortable because your eavesdropping ass isn't going anywhere."

"Of course," Elena said, still somewhat shell-shocked by the events that had transpired over the last few minutes. As an assistant U.S. attorney, she'd had plenty of exposure to the criminal element, but this was different. This was not some case she was reviewing through the objective eyes of a prosecutor; there were no evidence files neatly prepared by the FBI or crime scene photos taken after the fact. She had actually heard the crime this time; she had seen the victim firsthand and—thinking back to the man in the blazer and hooded T-shirt—very possibly the person who had harmed her as well.

The thought sent chills running down her spine.

Or, Elena supposed, maybe the chill had something to do with the fact that she was still standing in the air-conditioned hallway wearing nothing but her T-shirt and underwear.

Classy.

With as much dignity as one could muster while braless and without any pants, Elena tugged her T-shirt down an extra half-inch and followed the hotel manager into her room.


	2. Chapter 2

Something wasn't right.

Elena had been trapped inside her hotel room for nearly two hours while the Chicago Police Department supposedly conducted their investigation. She knew enough about crime scenes and witness questioning to know that this was not standard protocol.

For starters, nobody was telling her anything. The police had arrived shortly after the hotel manager escorted her back into her room. A middle-aged, slightly balding and extremely cranky Detective Slonsky introduced himself to Elena and took a seat in the armchair in the corner of the hotel room and began to take her statement about what she had heard that night. Although she had at least been given two seconds of privacy to throw on yoga pants and a bra, she still found it awkward to be questioned by the police while sitting on a hastily made hotel bed.

The first thing Detective Slonsky noticed was the half-empty glass of wine that she had ordered from room service still sitting on the desk where she'd left it hours before. That, of course, had prompted several preliminary questions regarding her alcohol consumption over the course of the evening. After she seemingly managed to convince Slonsky that, no, she was not a raging alcoholic and, yes, her statement at least had a modicum of reliability, they moved past the booze issue and she commented on the fact that Slonsky had introduced himself as "Detective" instead of "Officer." She asked if that meant he was part of the homicide division. If for no other reason, she wanted to know what had happened to the girl in room 1308.

Slonsky's sole response was a level stare and a curt, "I'm the one asking the questions here, Miss Gilbert."

Elena had just finished giving her statement when another plain-clothes detective stuck his head into the room. "Slonsky—you better get in here." He nodded in the direction of the room next door.

Slonsky stood and gave Elena yet another level stare. She wondered if he practiced the look in his bathroom mirror.

"I would appreciate it if you would remain in this room until I get back," he told her.

Elena smiled. "Of course, Detective." She was debating whether to pull rank in order to start getting some answers, but she wasn't quite at that point. Yet. She had been around cops and agents all her life and had a lot of respect for what they did. But the smile was to let Slonsky know that he wasn't getting to her. "I'm happy to cooperate in any way I can."

Slonsky eyed her suspiciously, probably trying to decide whether he heard a hint of sarcasm in her voice. She got that look a lot.

"Just stay in your room," he said as he made his exit.

The next time Elena saw Detective Slonsky was a half hour later, when he dropped by her room to let her know that, due to certain "unexpected developments," she would not only have to remain in her room longer than anticipated, but that he was posting a guard at her door. He added that "it had been requested" that she not make any calls from either her cell phone or the hotel line until "they" had finished questioning her.

For the first time, Elena wondered whether she personally was in trouble. "Am I considered a suspect in this investigation?" she asked Slonsky.

"I didn't say that."

She noticed that wasn't officially a "no."

As Slonsky turned to leave, she threw another question at him. "Who are 'they'?"

He peered over his shoulder. "Excuse me?"

"You said I can't make any calls until 'they' finish questioning me," Elena said. "Who were you referring to?"

The detective's expression said that he had no intention of answering that question. "We appreciate your continued cooperation, Miss Gilbert. That is all I can say for now."

A few minutes after Slonsky left, Elena looked out her peephole and—sure enough—was treated to the view of the back of some man's head, presumably the guard he had stationed outside her door. She left the door and went back to sitting on the bed. Elena glanced at the clock and saw that it was nearly 7:00 A.M. She turned on the television—Slonsky hadn't said anything about not watching TV, after all—and hoped that maybe she would see something about whatever was happening on the news.

She was still pushing buttons on the remote, trying to figure out how to get past that damn hotel "Welcome" screen, when the door to her room flew open once more.

Slonsky stuck his head in. "Sorry—no television either."

He shut the door.

"Stupid thin walls," Elena muttered under her breath. Not that anyone was listening. Then again…

"Can I at least read a book, Detective Slonsky?" she asked the empty room.

A pause.

Then a voice came through the door, from the hallway.

"Sure."

And indeed the walls were so thin, Elena could actually hear the faint trace of a smile in his answer.

"This is getting ridiculous. I have rights, you know."

Elena faced off against the cop guarding the door to her hotel room, determined to get some answers.

The young police officer nodded sympathetically. "I know, ma'am, and I do apologize, but I'm just following orders."

Maybe it was her frustration at being cooped up in her hotel room for what was now going on five—yes, five—hours, but Elena was going to strangle the kid if he ma'am-ed her one more time. She was twenty-eight years old, not sixty. Although she had probably given up the right to be called "Miss" somewhere around the time she had started thinking of twenty-two-year-old man-boy police officers as kids.

Deciding that throttling a cop was probably not the best way to go when presumably dozens more stood right outside her door (she couldn't say for sure; she hadn't been permitted to even look out into the hallway, let alone step a toe out there), Elena tried another tactic. The man-boy clearly responded to authority, maybe she could use that to her advantage.

"Look, I probably should have mentioned this earlier, but I'm an assistant U.S. attorney. I work out of the Chicago office—"

"If you live in Chicago, what are you doing spending the night in a hotel?" Officer Man-Boy interrupted.

"I'm redoing my hardwood floors. The point is—"

"Really?" He seemed very interested in this. "Because I have been trying to find somebody to update my bathroom. The people who owned the place before me put in this crazy black and white marble and gold fixtures and the place looks like something out of the Playboy Mansion. Mind if I ask how you found a contractor to take on a job that small?"

Elena cocked her head. "Are you trying to side-track me with these questions, or do you just have some weird fascination with home improvement?"

"Possibly the former. I was under the distinct impression that you were about to become difficult."

Elena had to hide her smile. Officer Man-Boy may not have been as green as she had thought.

"Here is the thing," she told him, "you can't keep me here against my will, especially since I have already given my statement to Detective Slonsky. You know that, and more important, I know that. There is clearly something unusual going on with this investigation, and while I'm willing to cooperate and give you guys a little leeway as a professional courtesy, I'm going to need some answers if you expect me to keep waiting here. And if you are not the person who can give me those answers, that's fine, but then I would like it if you could go get Slonsky or whoever it is that I should be talking to."

Officer Man-Boy was not unsympathetic. "Look—I know you have been stuck in this room for a long time, but the FBI guys said that they are gonna talk to you as soon as they finish next door."

"So, it is the FBI who is running this, then?"

"I probably wasn't supposed to say that."

"Why do they have jurisdiction?" Elena pressed. "This is a homicide case, right?"

Officer Man-Boy didn't fall for the bait a second time. "I'm sorry, Miss Gilbert, but my hands are tied. The agent in charge of the investigation specifically said I'm not allowed to talk to you about this."

"Then I think I should speak to the agent in charge. Who is it?" As a prosecutor for the Northern District of Illinois, Elena had worked with many of the FBI agents in Chicago.

"Some special agent—I didn't catch his name," Officer Man-Boy said. "Although I think he might know you. When he told me to guard this room, he said he felt bad for sticking me with you for this long."

Elena tried not to show any reaction, but that stung. True, she wasn't exactly buddy-buddy with a lot of the FBI agents she worked with—many of them still blamed her for that incident three years ago—but with the exception of one particular agent who, fortunately, was miles away in Nevada or Nebraska or something, she hadn't thought that anyone in the FBI disliked her enough to openly bad-mouth her.

Officer Man-Boy looked apologetic. "For what it is worth, I don't think you are so bad."

"Thanks. And did this unknown special agent who allegedly thinks he knows me have anything else to say?"

"Only that I should go get him if you start acting fussy." He looked her over. "You are going to start acting fussy now, aren't you?"

Elena folded her arms across her chest. "Yes, I think I am." And it wouldn't be an act. "You go find this agent, whoever he is, and tell him that the fussy woman in room 1307 is through being jerked around. And tell him that I would appreciate it very much if he could wrap up his little power trip and condescend to speak to me himself. Because I would like to know how long he expects me to sit here and wait."

"For as long as I ask you to, Miss Gilbert."

The voice came from the doorway.

Elena had her back to the door, but she would have recognized that voice anywhere—low and as smooth as velvet.

It couldn't be.

She turned around and took in the man standing across the room from her. He looked exactly the same as he did the last time she had seen him three years ago: tall, dark, and scowling.

She didn't bother to mask the animosity in her voice. "Agent Salvatore…I didn't realize you were back in town. How was Nevada?"

"Nebraska."

From his icy look, Elena knew that her day, which had already been off to a most inauspicious start, had just gotten about fifty times worse.


	3. Chapter 3

Elena watched warily as Damon Salvatore, looked over at Officer Man-Boy.

"Thank you, Officer, I can take it from here," he said.

The police officer made a hasty retreat, leaving her alone in the hotel room with Damon. His gaze was stone cold.

"This is quite a mess you have gotten yourself involved in."

Elena straightened up. Three years had passed, and he still managed to put her immediately on the defensive. "I wouldn't know. Thanks to you, I have no clue what I'm involved in." She paused, hating being out of the loop on whatever was going on. "What happened to the woman next door?"

"Dead."

Elena nodded. The presence of CPD detectives had pretty much given that away, but the confirmation of the woman's death shocked her nevertheless. She suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to get out of that hotel room. But she forced herself not to show any reaction in front of Damon.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said simply.

Damon gestured to the chair in front of the desk. "Why don't you take a seat? I need to ask you some questions."

"Do you intend to interrogate me, Agent Salvatore?"

"Do you intend to be uncooperative, Miss Gilbert?"

She laughed hollowly. "Why? Are you going to get rough with me?"

His eyes remained steely and dark. Elena swallowed and made a mental note to be careful when taunting a man who carried a gun and blamed her for nearly wrecking his career.

She remembered the day three years ago when they had first met to discuss the Lockwood case. She had never worked with Damon before; at that point she had only been a prosecutor for a year and he had been working undercover that entire time. She had been surprised—but eagerly so—when her boss assigned her the Lockwood investigation, one of the most high-profile cases in the district. Richard Lockwood was widely known by both the Bureau and the U.S. attorney's office to be the head of one of the largest crime syndicates in Chicago. The problem had always been getting enough evidence to prove this.

Which was precisely where Special Agent Damon Salvatore came in. Prior to their meeting, Elena learned from her boss that Damon had worked undercover for two years to infiltrate Lockwood's organization, until the FBI had been forced to pull him out when his cover was blown. Her boss had not told her much about the extraction other than that Damon had been cornered in a warehouse by twelve of Lockwood's men, had fought his way out, and had been shot in the process. She had learned one other thing—by the time FBI backup arrived, Damon had already managed to kill eight of Lockwood's men.

He made quite an impression on her the first time he and his partner walked into her office. Elena suspected nearly everyone who met Damon Salvatore had the same reaction: with blue-grey eyes, nearly black hair, and a strong bone structure with high cheeks bones and a solid jaw line, he looked like the kind of guy that women should avoid, because he didn't look like a cop. He was dangerously handsome. With striking, intense blue-grey eyes contrasting wonderfully against darkened lashes and eyebrows, and a 'bad boy' smile, Damon could be described as relatively athletic, tall, strong, sexy and seductive. And Elena would bet he could tempt a postmenopausal nun to sin with one of his devastating grins if he put his mind to it. He had a cast on his right forearm, presumably an injury inflicted by Lockwood's men, and he wore a navy T-shirt and jeans instead of the standard-issue suit and tie most agents were expected to wear. From the look of him, she was surprised the FBI had chosen him for undercover work because Damon Salvatore definitely didn't look like a cop.

And three years later—as he stood across from her in that hotel room that suddenly seemed far too small, with his eyes glittering with a low-simmering anger, and, yes, even despite the standard-issue suit and tie he wore this time—he looked not one bit less dangerous.

"I am not a suspect," Elena said. 'If you want to question me, I want to talk to my lawyer."

"You are a lawyer," he said. "And you are not considered a suspect, so you are not entitled to one, anyway."

"What am I considered, then?"

"A person of interest."

"This is bullshit. I'm tired and not in the mood to play games. If you don't start telling me what is going on, I'm leaving," Elena said.

Damon eyed her yoga sweats and Hollywood T-shirt, looking unconcerned with her threats.

"You are not going anywhere." He pulled the chair out and gestured. "Take a seat."

"Thanks, but no. I think I will just stick with the plan where I walk out." Before he could call her bluff, Elena grabbed her purse and headed for the door. The hell with her stuff, she would get it later. "It was nice catching up with you, Agent Salvatore. I'm glad to see those three years in Nebraska didn't make you any less of an asshole."

She threw open the door and nearly ran into a man standing in the doorway. He wore a well-cut grey suit and tie, appeared older than Damon.

He flashed Elena a knock-out smile while precariously balancing three Starbucks cups in his hands. "Thanks for getting the door. What did I miss?"

"I'm storming out. And I just called Agent Salvatore an asshole."

"Sounds like good times. Coffee?" He held the Starbucks out to her. "I'm Agent Alaric Saltzman."

Elena threw a knowing glance over her shoulder. "Good cop, bad cop? Is that the best you are capable of, Damon?"

Damon stalked across the room and stopped in the doorway, towering over her. "You have no idea what I'm capable of," he said darkly.

As he reached over and took one of the coffee cups from Alaric, Elena made a mental note to be careful when taunting a man who carried a gun, blamed her for nearly wrecking his career, and who was bigger than she was. She internally said a few profanities for her earlier decision to put on gym shoes; she needed at least three-inch heels to face off against Damon Salvatore. Not to mention that she would have looked like a major jackass wearing T-shirt and yoga pants.

Alaric gestured with the coffee cups. "What's going on? Do you two know each other?"

"Miss Gilbert and I almost had the pleasure of working on a case together," Damon said.

"Almost? What does that mean? You know I have just joined the FBI not long ago." Alaric turned to Elena with a look of realization. "Wait a second—Elena Gilbert? I knew that name sounded familiar. Of course, from the U.S. attorney's office. I had followed the news when I was an Interpol." His blue eyes lit up as he laughed. "You are the one that Damon said had—"

"I think we all recall just fine what Agent Salvatore said," Elena interrupted. Three years ago, his words infamously had been broadcast all over the national news for nearly a week. She didn't need to hear them again, particularly not with him standing right beside her. The experience had been embarrassing enough the first time around.

Alaric nodded. "Sure, no problem." He looked between her and Damon. "So…this is awkward."

Changing the subject, Elena pointed to the coffee. "Is that regular or decaf?"

"Regular. I heard you had a long night."

She took one of the cups from him. She had been up for twenty-three hours and adrenaline wasn't cutting it anymore. She took a sip, sighing gratefully. "Thank you."

Alaric took a sip of his coffee. "I know you are a good citizen, Miss Gilbert. So what do you say—think you might want to stay and chat with us about what happened last night?"

That almost got a smile out of Elena. Alaric, at least, appeared to be a pleasant, reasonable man. Too bad he had drawn the short stick in his partner assignment.

"That is not half-bad," she told him.

Alaric grinned. "The coffee or the good-cop routine?"

"Both. If you would like to ask me some questions, Agent Saltzman, I would be happy to cooperate." Elena brushed past Damon as she turned and headed back into the room. He and Alaric followed her as she took a seat in front of the desk. She crossed her legs and faced the two FBI agents head-on.

"Alright. Ask the questions."

x x x

If it had been anyone other than Elena Gilbert, Damon probably would have found her attitude amusing.

But since it was Elena Gilbert, he wasn't laughing. In fact, there wasn't anything about the situation that he found even remotely funny.

He decided to let Alaric take the lead in questioning her about the events of the night before. Not because she very clearly wanted nothing to do with him—he could care less about Elena Gilbert's wishes—but rather because, not surprising given their history, she responded better to his partner than to him. The investigation was his focus, and he was not about to let personal issues get in the way.

When he and Alaric had first arrived at the Peninsula and Detective Slonsky told them the name of the witness in room 1307, for a split-second Damon had thought the whole thing was a setup, some sort of welcome-back prank for his return to Chicago. And he still had considered this a possibility when they entered the crime scene. There was nobody, after all—Slonsky said the paramedics had taken the victim to Northwestern Memorial.

Then he saw the videotape. And he found out the name of the victim.

After that, it was pretty clear to Damon that the call he had received at 5:00 A.M. from his boss, asking him to check out CPD's claims of what they thought they might have stumbled into, was indeed not part of some elaborate joke. And his first priority at this point was to determine whether the FBI had jurisdiction over the matter.

Elena Gilbert was the key to answering that question. If Damon believed her story, the FBI would have no choice but to conduct its own investigation. For that reason, as much as he might have wanted nothing more than to pawn her off onto Alaric, as the senior agent on the scene he knew that wasn't an option.

From his post in the corner of the room, Damon studied her. Not surprisingly, she looked exhausted. And for some reason, she seemed slightly shorter than he remembered. Probably because all the times he had seen her three years ago had been during work hours and she had been wearing skirt.

Yes, he remembered Elena Gilbert and her skirt…In fact, despite the fact that it had been three years since he had last seen her, Damon was surprised at how accurate—and detailed—his memory of her had been: the long dark brown hair, the brown doe eyes, the attitude that he had once—very briefly—found admirable.

Then again, he shouldn't be surprised he had remembered those things. After all, he was an FBI agent and it was his job to remember details.

And, he supposed, it didn't hurt that Elena Gilbert was—some men other than him might say—gorgeous and sexy.

Which, to Damon, only made it that much more annoying that she also happened to be a total bitch.

Thankfully, the long silky dark brown hair currently was pulled back into a ponytail, and the brown doe eyes had dulled a little given her lack of sleep. The yoga pants and Hollywood T-shirt she wore were actually kind of cute, but because of the aforementioned bitch factor, he ignored this.

"Because they woke me up the second time," Elena was saying, "I had decided to call Guest Services."

"I have a few questions." Damon's interruption from the corner of the room startled Elena; it was the first time he had spoken since she had begun giving her statement.

"Tell me what you heard right before you fell asleep. Before the noises next door started up again," he said.

Elena hesitated. He knew she didn't want to answer his questions—she probably didn't want to say anything to him at all, in fact—but now that she had started cooperating, she didn't have much choice.

"I heard the door shut, as if someone was leaving the room," she said.

"Are you sure it was the exterior door you heard?" Damon asked.

"Yes."

"But you didn't check to see if anyone left at that time?"

Elena shook her head. "No. Then the room went quiet for a while. For about a half hour or so."

"Tell me about the noises that woke you up."

Elena turned to face Damon now that he had taken over the questioning. "What would you like to know, Agent Salvatore?" she asked mock-politely.

"I just told you. I would like to know what you heard."

"Pretty much the same things I heard coming from the room the first time," she said with an air of defiance.

Damon cocked his head. "Really? You said the first time around you heard the people next door having sex."

"Yes, I think the screams of 'I'm coming' gave that away the people next door were having sex."

Damon stepped out from the corner to approach her. "When you woke up the second time, did you hear any asses being slapped?"

"No."

"How about the 'I'm coming' screams? Any more of those?"

"I heard squealing."

"But no proclamations of impending orgasms?"

She glared at Damon. "You made your point, Agent Salvatore."

He drew closer and stared down at her. "My point, Miss Gilbert, is that I know you are tired, but that is no excuse for getting sloppy."

Elena's eyes filled with anger. But then she paused for a moment, and nodded. "Fair enough."

She looked over at the wall she shared with room 1308. "When I woke up the second time, I heard the bed banging against the wall, louder than before. But only a couple of times. Then like I said, I heard squealing."

"A man or a woman's voice?" Damon asked.

"A woman. The sound was muffled, as if her face was covered by a blanket or pillow." Elena turned back to him with a look of sudden realization. "She was suffocated, wasn't she?" she asked softly.

Damon debated whether to answer this but knew he eventually would have to fill her in anyway. "Yes."

Elena bit her lip. "I just thought they were trying to be quieter about it. I didn't realize…" She took a deep, steadying breath.

"You couldn't have known," Alaric assured her.

Damon threw him a look—enough with the good-cop already. She was a big girl, she could handle it. "You told Detective Slonsky that you called security and the room went quiet again?"

"And then I heard the door open, so I ran and looked out the peephole," Elena said.

"Just being nosy?"

The sarcasm seemed to reinvigorate her. "And thank goodness for that," she said. "Otherwise you wouldn't have whatever information I know that I don't yet realize I know." She smiled ever so sweetly. "Besides, if I hadn't been so nosy, Agent Salvatore, you and I never would have had this lovely chance to reconnect."

Alaric coughed while taking a sip of his coffee. It sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.

Damon found her sarcasm laughable. Back when he was in Special Forces, before he had joined the FBI, he had interrogated foreign operatives, suspected terrorists, and members of various guerrilla militias. He could certainly handle one cheeky assistant U.S. attorney. "I'm glad to see the coffee has put a little fire back in you," he said dryly. "Now why don't you tell me what you saw when you were doing your civic duty and spying though the peephole?"

Alaric held up his hand. "Um, I'm thinking maybe I should pick back up with this."

Elena and Damon answered simultaneously. "We are fine."

"I saw a man leave the room, which I'm sure you know," she told Damon.

"Describe him."

"I already described him to Slonsky."

"Do it again."

Damon saw her eyes flash. She didn't like being told what to do. _Too bad,_ he thought.

"Five foot eleven, maybe six feet tall," she said. "Medium build. He wore jeans, a black blazer, and a grey hooded T-shirt pulled over his head. He had his back to me the entire time, so I never saw his face."

"Didn't you think the hooded T-shirt was a little odd?" Damon asked.

"I heard butt cheeks being slapped and walls that were banged so hard my teeth nearly rattled. Frankly, I have found this whole evening to be a little odd, Agent Salvatore."

Out of the corner of his eye, Damon could see Alaric glanced up at the ceiling while fighting off another smile.

"Are you certain about the man's height?" Damon continued.

Elena paused, thinking. "Yes."

"How about his weight?"

She sighed. "I'm really bad at guessing that kind of thing."

"Make an effort. Pretend this is something important."

Another glare.

Elena glanced over at Alaric. "How much do you weigh?"

"Wait—you think I look like the killer?"

"The man I saw seems closer to your build."

"Oh, so he is roughly the size of Alaric, then?" Damon suggested helpfully.

She looked between the two men, considering this. "Yeah."

Damon and Alaric exchanged looks.

"What?" Elena asked. "What does that tell you?"

"So just to make sure we are clear on this, the man you saw leave the room right before security arrived was about five-eleven or six feet tall, and around the size of Alaric. Is that what you are saying?"

"That is what I'm saying," she agreed. "And I see that you have gotten whatever information it is you wanted out of me. Now I would like some information in return." She looked to Alaric first, who looked to Damon.

After debating a moment, Damon leaned against the wall. "Okay. Here is what I can tell you."

"And just so we are clear: everything I'm about to tell you need to be kept confidential," Damon told her. "In fact, if you weren't with the U.S. attorney's office, I wouldn't be telling you anything."

"Crystal clear, Agent Salvatore," she said.

"You have obviously put a few things together, so I will speed through the preliminaries," Damon began. "You called hotel security, they found the dead woman next door, so they called the paramedics and the police. CPD arrived at the scene, saw there were signs of a struggle, and began their investigation."

"What signs of a struggle?" Elena asked.

"To save time, you should assume going forward that anything I don't tell you is a deliberate decision on my part."

Elena looked up at the ceiling, biting her tongue. Was this a joke of some sort? She couldn't stop asking herself. There were plenty of FBI agents but why must Damon Salvatore be the one involved in this?

"While CPD was conducting their sweep of the room, they stumbled onto something hidden behind the television across from the bed. A video camera."

"Do you have the murder on tape?" Elena asked. If only all crimes came to prosecutors so neatly wrapped up.

Damon shook his head. "No. What is on the tape is the stuff that took place before the murder."

"Before the murder?" Elena thought about the raucous sex noises she had heard through the wall. "That must be quite a tape."

"It is," Damon agreed. "Especially since the man on the tape is a married U.S. senator."

Elena's eyes widened. She had not expected that. She asked the obvious next question. "Which senator?"

Agent Alaric pulled a photograph out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket and handed it to Elena.

She glanced at the photograph, then back at Damon. "This is Senator Whitmore."

"So, you recognize him?"

"Of course I recognize him," Elena said. Bill Whitmore had represented the state of Illinois in the U.S. Senate for over twenty-five years. And lately she had seen his face in the news more than usual—he had just been appointed the chairman of the Senate Committee on Banking, Housing, and Urban Affairs.

Elena thought back to the redheaded woman she had seen on the paramedics' gurney. "That wasn't the senator's wife in room 1308, was it?"

"No, it wasn't," Damon said.

"Who was she?"

"Let's just say that Senator Whitmore was paying to have a lot more than his hardwood floors done last night."

Elena raised her brows. "A prostitute?"

Alaric cleared his throat. "Well, she was not exactly a woman…"

Elena frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I think it is better to say that she did look like a woman but physically she wasn't," Alaric explained. "The name is Mason Robert, aka Mandy Robert."

Elena blinked. "You mean…Holy crap!" She looked at Damon. "Do you know this already?"

"We have the escort service's records. The senator had been seeing this escort regularly for almost a year now."

"Apparently the senator likes men who have a penchant for female underwear," Alaric said. "Mandy Robert was the most popular escort according to the service because his talent in disguising himself as a woman was considered excellent. Nobody could tell he was actually a woman in terms of the physical appearance. He could even make himself sound like a woman."

Elena got up and paced before the bed, working the scenario like a new case she had been handed. "Wow! I'm speechless. I don't know what to say…who would have guessed the senator is interested in…a man dressed as a woman?"

"The fetish for women's undergarments is not all that rare or unusual." Damon adopted a professional tone as he warmed to his lecture. "It is generally considered a harmless quirk, as these things go. Indeed, the history of prominent men dressing in lingerie goes back for centuries. There have been kings, generals, presidents, statesmen—"

"So, what is with the camera? Don't tell me the senator was stupid enough to think he could keep a sex tape secret." Elena stopped, thinking quickly. "No…of course. Blackmail. That is why CPD called you guys." She looked at Damon. "The Senator would be so humiliated that he would pay blackmail or kill to keep the secret. Am I right?"

"Having reviewed the tape, it is obvious that Senator Whitmore had no clue he was being filmed," Alaric said.

"Oh dear! You are the one who got stuck reviewing the tape? Lucky you," Elena said.

"Not exactly. But Damon was busy playing bad-cop with Senator Whitmore."

"And here I thought that was special for me."

Alaric grinned. "Nah—he likes to break that out with everybody. It usually works, too, with that whole dark and glowering thing he has got going on."

Elena peeked at Damon, who was back at his post in the corner of the room. "Glowering"—she liked that description. It was certainly more insightful than the generic "asshole" she had been going with for the past three years.

She wondered if Damon Salvatore would ever be nice to anyone.

Then she remembered that she frankly didn't give a damn whether he did or not.

"Given the content of the tape, Senator Whitmore would normally be CPD's primary suspect," Damon said to her. "In fact, the police probably would have arrested him already, if it wasn't for you."

"Is that so?"

Damon pushed away from the wall and stormed over. He yanked the photo out of Elena's hands and held it in front of her face.

"Let's cut through the crap. The guy you saw left the room five minutes before hotel security found Mason Robert dead—is there any possibility it is this man?"

Elena hesitated, momentarily caught off guard by the suddenness with which Damon had gone into attack mode.

He shoved the photo even closer. "Come on, Elena—is there any possibility it was this man?"

Elena felt an odd flip in her stomach, hearing Damon say her first name. They had once, very briefly, been on a first-name basis before. She brushed this off and focused on the photo he held before her. Really, she didn't even need to look. Senator Whitmore was not only a shorter man, but if she had to guess—and apparently she did—she would say he weighed at least two hundred and fifty pounds. She might not have gotten the best look through her peephole, but she knew enough to know one thing.

"It is not him," she said.

"You are sure?" Damon asked.

"I'm sure."

Damon stepped away from her. "Then Senator Whitmore owes you one hell of a thank you. Because your word is the only thing keeping him from being arrested for murder."

"Doesn't he have some sort of alibi?" Elena asked.

Damon said nothing.

"I will take that as a no," Elena said. "How about if instead of questions, I just see if I can fill in the blanks? Senator Whitmore has been seeing this escort who happened to be a man who liked to wear lingerie…"

"Who just happened to be appointed the chairman of the Senate Banking Committee," Alaric threw in. When he caught the look of death Damon shot him, he shrugged. "What? I don't have your issues with her. Besides, I heard what Maxfield said—we are supposed to share, remember?"

Much glowering ensued.

"So, this Mason Robert decides to get the senator on tape and use it as blackmail," Elena continued. "He meets Mason tonight, they do the deed—many times—I'm still going with the Viagra theory on that, by the way—and the senator leaves. Twenty minutes later, our mystery man shows up. There is a struggle, and he kills this Mason Robert. And since there is no sign of forced entry, we can assume Mason Robert knew the murderer and let him into the room. How am I doing so far?"

Alaric nodded, impressed. "Not bad."

"What I think," Damon told her, "is that you have had a long night, and we don't want to take up any more of your time. The FBI appreciates your cooperation, Miss Gilbert. We will be in touch if there is anything further we need."

Elena watched as Damon turned and headed towards the door, apparently with the mistaken impression that there was nothing left for them to discuss.

"Actually, I do have another question, Agent Salvatore," she said.

Damon looked back at her. "What might that be?"

"Can I finally get out of this hotel room?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Aren't you the least bit curious to know what the hell the FBI's doing?"

Despite it was over the phone, Trevor Lombard could tell that Nancy Whitmore, the wife of Senator Whitmore was very nervous. From the edge in her voice, Trevor knew she was not only nervous. She was very afraid.

"Of course I'm curious," Trevor told her. "But pushing the FBI isn't going to get us any answers."

"He is supposed to be in jail," Nancy lowered her voice to a hiss. "I don't like it—they are hiding something. I want to know why he hasn't been arrested."

"What do the lawyers say? For the money you guys are paying them, somebody should be able to tell you something."

"He isn't telling me anything," Nancy spat out. "You are my brother. And I would think, as the senator's personal security guard, that you might want to muster up some interest in this."

Trevor said nothing.

"He is supposed to be in jail," Nancy repeated. "I want him in jail."

Trevor hesitated. "What is it you want me to do?"

"Find out what the FBI knows."

"If your twenty-five lawyers can't accomplish that, what makes you think I can?"

"You have other ways," Nancy said. "You have always come through for us in the past."

There was another brief silence.

"Please help me," Nancy begged. "You have to help me. I'm your sister. I can't stand seeing him anymore. I want him in jail."

"Fine. But we need to be we need to be very cautious in how we handle this," Trevor said. "Give me some time."

"Don't let me wait too long."

The line went dead.

Trevor took a swig of his beer, thinking about what had happened that night in Peninsula.

What had gone wrong?

He thought his plan was perfect.

Now he had to use his ways to find out what the FBI knew, and more important, how concerned he needed to be about their investigation. They were holding something back. And given what Trevor personally knew about the crime scene—which of course, was pretty much everything—the only explanation for the fact that the FBI had not yet arrested Senator Whitmore for Mandy's murder was that they found something that Trevor had overlooked. And as calm as he might have seemed on the outside, that possibility was starting to make him pretty nervous. Probably because the possibility that he had overlooked something was not entirely far-fetched.

But how could he?

He had planned to kill Mandy Robert. It was a perfect plan.

Mandy Robert, aka Mason Robert.

Trevor couldn't let him mess with his sister.

To solve the problem, Mason Robert had to die.

Mason was a trouble maker. Even dead, he was still screwing people. Took one hell of a talented escort to do that.

He was an escort who disguised as a woman wearing lacy lingerie and having sex with Whitmore.

Trevor shuddered at the thought of two men together in the hotel room.

He had been working for Whitmore for more than five years now. Because Whitmore was both a U.S. senator and an extremely wealthy man (CNN's most recent list had estimated his net worth at nearly $80 million), he had employed a private security guard for years. When his prior bodyguard had left ten years ago to work for the Secret Service, his wife, Nancy who was also Trevor's sister had recommended him as a replacement.

Generally, Trevor liked working for Whitmore. It certainly was an interesting job. In a nutshell, he handled all actual and potential threats, both direct and implied, against the senator and his political career. This meant that he acted as Whitmore's personal bodyguard, travelled with the senator wherever he went, and was the liaison between Whitmore and the various outside security and investigative agencies they worked with—everyone from the state and federal officials who handled the death threats the senator occasionally received, to the security staffs at both the Capitol and Senate Office Building.

Over the last five years, Trevor had become one of the senator's most trusted confidants. But he never knew the senator favoured a man disguised as a woman over his sister.

He had always thought Whitmore had affairs which weren't surprising for a powerful and wealthy man.

But screwing a man disguising as a woman?

It was disgusting.

Trevor would never forget the day when he found Nancy crying out her heart and threatened to kill herself because she had found out Whitmore was screwing a man.

Nancy swore she would not file a divorce because it would mean she had lost her husband to a man.

Trevor was furious and wanted to beat the shit out of the senator but Nancy stopped him.

"I want him in jail," she cried out. "I want him locked up forever."

It was the start of their plan at that moment.

Since Trevor was the security guard for the senator, it was not difficult to find out what Whitmore was doing. When business required the senator to be in the city late at night, he would spend the night at a hotel instead of making the fifty-minute drive back to his North Shore estate.

Mandy Robert was not the first escort the senator had been seeing, but after only one night, he had become Whitmore's favourite.

Trevor didn't understand why Whitmore would choose a man over his sister. He only knew Mandy Robert had to die.

The plan Nancy devised had three parts: they would catch Whitmore on video performing those acts of service generally considered outside the traditional senator/constituent relationship. Then Trevor would present a lump sum of money to Mandy to pay him off. But Mandy would never get the money. Trevor would kill him the moment Mandy got the money. After that, Trevor would leave the video behind so that the cops would think Whitmore killed Mandy Robert because of blackmail.

Mandy Robert was greedy and had asked for a hundred thousand dollars.

Greedy was good, Trevor thought. It meant he wouldn't be able to run away.

The time to strike came when the senator had decided to stay at the Peninsula after a charity ball for prostate cancer's foundation that would keep him in the city late into the evening. Whitmore asked Trevor to make the "necessary arrangements" and Trevor set about doing exactly that. They would be staying at the Peninsula, where Whitmore was a frequent visitor, and Trevor knew the layout of the hotel well. He had been given a tour by hotel security earlier in the year when the senator's family had stayed there that had pretty much told him everything he needed to know, including that which was most important: where the hotel kept their cameras.

Trevor requested room 1308, a room the senator had stayed in before. Given its location, it suited his needs perfectly. It was in a corner and right across the hall from a stairwell, providing Trevor a low-visibility means to sneak in and out of the room. He set up the camera, making sure it would start record the moment the senator entered the room and it would record for a total of two hours. Whitmore normally stayed for only two hours and would leave as he was afraid some reporters would catch him. The camera was hidden behind the television that was conveniently located in front of the king-sized bed.

As planned, Trevor entered the hotel as soon as the senator left the and hurried back up to room 1308. When Mandy let him in, Trevor handed a cheque to him.

Mandy smiled as he looked at the cheque. "Thank you. This is easy money. I bet Whitmore's wife must be tearing her hair out now since she has lost to a man."

"You are right. She is very upset." Without warning, Trevor lunged for Mandy—pleased he never saw it coming—and grabbed him by the throat and threw him onto the bed. Mandy hit it with enough force to bang the bed loudly against the wall. Before he could scream, Trevor was on top of him, and the bed slammed against the wall a second time as he pinned him. He slapped his hand over Mandy's mouth.

"You don't know who you are messing with. Messing with my sister means death sentence, asshole," he hissed.

Mandy's eyes widened and he began to fight back. Trevor grabbed one of the pillows next to his head and brought it down over his face. His arms flailed, his hands clawed for Trevor's face, and he kicked out with his legs, trying to buck Trevor off. But Trevor was stronger and bigger.

Probably that was the reason Mandy could disguise himself as a woman because of his small size, Trevor thought, using his elbows and chest to hold the pillow down while he grabbed for Mandy's wrists and pinned them under his knees.

Mandy fought really hard at that.

Trevor knew for certain Mandy had to die. He couldn't let Nancy down. Nancy was his only family and he swore he would not let anyone hurt her.

So, he kept the pillow right where it was.

It took longer than he expected. Mandy's struggles grew weaker, feeble, but still he persisted, and it wasn't until a good two minutes or so had gone by without any movement that Trevor dared to lift the pillow with his gloved hands.

Mandy's eyes were open and empty. Staring down at the lifeless body, Trevor smiled. Being in the Army for almost ten years had taught him about not feeling when he had to kill someone.

He sat up and smoothed back a lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes. He climbed off Mandy's body, thinking he had better get out of that hotel room. Fast. He grabbed the cheque which had fallen onto the floor when he lunged for Mandy.

His plan was perfect and successful.

Whitmore's fingerprints were all over the room. The escort service would have a record that he was the one who had been with Mandy that night. And if he left behind the videotape of the senator and Mandy having sex, that would give the authorities enough of a potential motive. A crime of passion, they would guess. Mandy had tried to blackmail the senator and when he found out, he had panicked and killed him.

It would be enough, Trevor told himself. This was what Nancy wanted.

He made sure the videotape was in Mandy's purse and recorder were still behind the television, then hurried to the door. He flipped up the hood on his T-shirt.

After all, one never knew who might be watching.

And now he needed to finish what he had started.

Find out what the FBI knows.

He had every intention of doing just that.

It wasn't going to be easy getting the information, he knew, but his mind was already working. Damon Salvatore could potentially be a problem—if the stories going around about him were even partially true—but Salvatore had made enemies with some people that no one should make enemies with, and Trevor had a feeling he could use that to his advantage.

The FBI obviously had something. Although not enough to point them in his direction—yet—he didn't like having any loose ends lying around. And as soon as he found out what the loose end was, he planned to take care of it.

He could handle this for Nancy. He would make sure Nancy was safe.

And he would do whatever it took to keep it that way.


	5. Chapter 5

Elena staggered into the bathroom the moment she got inside her house. When Agent Saltzman suggested that he and Damon drive her home from the hotel, she had reluctantly accepted. She got out of the car immediately the moment it stopped in front of her house. As much as she was eager to put some distance between herself and Damon, she didn't want him to think that his attitude was getting to her.

Now she gripped the edges of the white pedestal sink and stared at herself in the mirror. She looked terrible. Her only hope was a shower.

She whipped the T-shirt over her head, removed her yoga pants and stepped beneath the hot spray. Seizing the shampoo in both hands, she went to work with near-violent determination. It had not been a good night.

When she emerged a short time later she felt infinitely better. But she still couldn't stop thinking about Damon.

She recalled all too well the look on his face when she had told him they weren't going to file charges in the Lockwood case.

It had been three years ago, late on a Friday afternoon. Earlier in the day, she had been called into a meeting with her boss, Nathan Silas, the U.S. attorney for the Northern District of Illinois. He had told her that he wanted to talk about the Lockwood case, and she assumed they were going to discuss the charges she planned to pursue against the various members of Lockwood's organization. What Nathan told her instead came as a shock.

"I have decided against filing charges," he declared. He said it as soon as she sat down, as if wanting to get through the conversation quickly.

"Against Lockwood's men, or Lockwood himself?" Elena asked, assuming at first that Nathan meant he had made an immunity deal with somebody—or several somebodies—in exchange for their testimony.

"Against everybody," Nathan said matter-of-factly.

Elena sat back in her chair, needing a moment to process this. "You don't want to file any charges?"

"I realize that you are surprised by this."

That was the understatement of the year. "The FBI has been working on this case for over two years. With all the information Agent Salvatore gathered while undercover, we have enough evidence to put Lockwood away for the rest of his life. Why wouldn't we prosecute?"

"You are young and eager, Elena, and I like that about you. It is one of the reasons I snatched you away from Mike & Hill," Nathan said, referring to the law firm she had worked at prior to coming to the U.S. attorney's office.

Elena held up her hand. True, she was new to the job, and she definitely was eager, but she'd had two years of trial experience as a civil litigator before becoming a prosecutor. Nevertheless, if Nathan didn't think she was ready, she wouldn't let pride get in the way. "Hold on, Nathan. If this is because you don't think I have enough experience to try this case, then just give it to somebody else. Sure, I will be a little testy, I will probably mope dramatically around the office for a day or two, but I will get over it. Hell, I will even help whoever you reassign to the case—"

Nathan cut her off. "No one in this office is going to file charges. Period. I have been around long enough to know that a trial like this will quickly escalate into two things: a media circus, and a black hole for the United States government. You think you have enough evidence now, but just wait: after we openly declare war on Lockwood, you will have witnesses flipping on you—or worse, mysteriously disappearing or dying—and before you know it, you will be two weeks into trial without a shred of hard evidence to back up all the promises you made to the jury in your opening statement."

Elena knew that she probably should have just backed off at that point. But she couldn't help herself. "But Agent Salvatore's testimony alone will be enough evidence to—"

"Agent Salvatore saw a lot of things, but unfortunately his cover was blown too early," Nathan interrupted her. "And while I certainly appreciate the two years he spent investigating this case, if we go forward with pressing charges and we don't get a conviction, the fallout will be on us— not Agent Salvatore or anyone else at the FBI. I'm not willing to have my office take that risk."

Now Elena did fall quiet. Richard Lockwood and his minions were responsible for nearly one-third of the drug trafficking in the city of Chicago; they laundered their money through more than twenty sham corporations; and they extorted, bribed, and threatened anyone who got in their way. Not to mention, they killed people.

Going after criminals like Richard Lockwood was the reason she had joined the U.S. attorney's office in the first place. She knew her father had always wanted her to join the U.S attorney.

Generally, she had liked working at her old firm. With her father having been a police officer, and her mother having worked as a court reporter until she died of breast cancer just before Elena turned seventeen, her family had gotten by reasonably well. But they certainly hadn't been wealthy. Because of that, Elena had appreciated the independence and security that had come with the $150,000 salary she had been earning by her second year in private practice.

Her father had been proud of her success. As Elena had learned again and again from the police officers who offered their condolences at her father's wake and funeral, he had apparently bragged incessantly to his partner and other cop friends about her achievements.

She had remained close to her father after her mother passed away. Grayson Gilbert was the only family she had left.

His death had hit her hard.

One late afternoon during Elena's second year at the firm, the captain in charge of her father's shift called her at work with the grave words anyone with a family member in law enforcement dreads hearing: that she needed to come to the hospital right away. By the time she had burst frantically through the doors of the emergency room, it had been too late. She had stood numbly in a private room as the captain told her that her father had a massive heart attack while chasing after a drug dealer.

Those first couple of weeks after her father's death, she had felt…lifeless was the word she had used to describe it when Matt had asked how she was holding up. But then she had pulled herself together and went back to the firm. In many senses, knowing how proud her father had been of her hard work had made it easier to do that—she knew he would want her to carry on, to keep going with her career as far as she could.

She knew her father would want her to after criminals like what he had been doing. She had to carry on his dream.

That very week, she applied for an assistant U.S. attorney position.

One aspect of being a prosecutor Elena hadn't anticipated, however, was the politics that often came into play with government jobs. While sitting across from Nathan that day, discussing his reasons for pulling out of the Lockwood case, she realized that the U.S. attorney's office was no exception. She could guess Nathan's real problem: simply put, he didn't want to stick his neck out and potentially lose a trial that would be covered by every national newspaper, television, and radio station.

Elena was surprised by his decision. And frustrated. And disgusted by the thought that someone like Richard Lockwood would be allowed to go on, unchecked, with business as usual. But unfortunately, unless she planned to hand over her assistant U.S. attorney badge right then and there, her hands were tied. She had been with the office for only a year—openly challenging her boss on such an issue would not be the smartest move if she wanted to remain an employed crime-fighter. So she kept her thoughts to herself.

"Okay. No charges." She got a pit in her stomach, saying the words out loud.

"I'm glad you understand," Nathan said with a nod of approval. "The department has notified the FBI on behalf of you that we are pulling out of the Lockwood case. You should be glad that you don't have to deal with Agent Salvatore directly."

Reality hit her. Nathan was selling her out—letting her take the fall for his decision to back off of Lockwood. But that was how the game was played. He was her boss, not to mention an extremely important and well-connected member of the Chicago legal community. Which meant there was only one thing she could say.

Nathan held her eyes. "And just so we are on the same page, the only thing the FBI needs to know is that there aren't going to be any charges brought against Lockwood and his men. This office has a strict policy that we do not comment on our internal decision-making process."

When Elena said nothing, Nathan cocked his head. "I need you to be a team-player on this, Elena. Do not talk to Salvatore directly. Is that understood?"

Oh, she understood all right. "Fine."

"Now you should concentrate on the interview," Nathan said. "You are representing the department. I'm giving you a chance because I look highly on you. Don't mess it up, Gilbert."

"I know what to do."

x x x

Damon would never forget what had happened three years ago.

Did he have regrets about what had happened three years ago? Of course he did—what he said had been uncalled for. He knew that all of about two seconds after the words had flown out of his mouth.

When he had found out that he was being transferred back to Chicago, he had vowed to put everything behind him. Unfortunately, he hadn't counted on running into Elena Gilbert within his first week of being back. Being around her brought back a lot of old memories.

Although he had been finding it difficult to transition back to an office job after working as an undercover for two years, there was one part of it he didn't mind: working with Elena Gilbert. He had begun to worry, in fact, that he was starting to not mind it a little too much. They had only ever talked business—the Lockwood case—yet the couple of times they had been alone together, he felt some sort of undercurrent between them. He didn't know how to describe it, except to say that whatever the undercurrent was, it was enough to make him wish he wasn't still so screwed up.

But he would never forget when his partner at the time, Enzo St John told him about the Lockwood case.

At that moment Damon could think about was one thing.

Two years of his life down the drain.

He was furious. He wanted an explanation. If Elena was not going to file any charges, he needed her explanation. He was certainly not going to go down without fighting, he thought with determination as he charged into her office.

He knew the floor well and stormed towards Elena's office. Her secretary was running behind him, trying to catch up. He didn't even bother knocking. He threw open the door and stalked towards the desk.

"What do you mean, you are not going to file any charges?" he demanded. He tried hard not to raise his voice but he was so angry, he couldn't control himself.

"Damon?" Elena stood up looking weary.

"I'm sorry, Elena," the secretary said a bit breathlessly. "I tried to stop him…"

"Why would you do this?" Damon asked her. "Why aren't you going to file any charges? You can't be serious."

"Elena, do you want me to call the security?" The secretary asked nervously.

Elena gave her secretary a fleeting smile. "Thank you, Amy. You can leave us now."

"Are you sure?" Amy began protesting.

"Didn't she ask you to leave?" Damon told the woman before turning his attention back to Elena. "I want an explanation."

"Can you calm down?"

"I want an explanation. Now," he said again to Elena.

"Our office has decided there isn't enough evidence to take the case to trial," Elena said.

Damon was struggling—hard—to keep his anger in check. "Bullshit. Who made this decision? Was it Silas? I want to talk to him," Damon demanded.

Elena shook her head. "There's no need for that. This…is my case. It was my call."

"Screw that—I don't believe you."

Elena remained cool. "I realize how frustrating this—"

Damon took a step towards her. "Frustrating? Frustration doesn't begin to cover what I'm feeling right now. You have read the files—at least I assumed you had until about a minute ago—now I'm not so sure what you or anyone else in the U.S. attorney's office has been doing. You know who Richard Lockwood is and the things he has done. What the hell are you guys thinking?"

"Excuse me."

The voice hit Elena like a cold bucket of ice.

She blinked as if coming out of a fog, and both she and Damon turned their heads to see a blond standing at her office's door.

Damn, Elena cursed silently. She had completely forgotten she was supposed to have an interview of CNN.

"Are you going to drop the charge on Richard Lockwood, Miss Gilbert?" The female reporter asked. "Can you explain why did you make this decision?"

"I'm sorry." Elena sounded stiff and uncomfortable. "No comment."

"Agent Salvatore, as the FBI agent in charge of the investigation, what do you think about the fact that Richard Lockwood will continue to walk the streets of Chicago as a free man?" She shoved her microphone in Damon's face.

His blood boiled and before he realized what he was doing, Damon fired back a reply to the reporter's question.

"I think the assistant U.S. attorney has her head up her ass, that is what I think. They should have assigned the case to somebody with some balls."

There was a brief silence.

Elena stared him dead in the eyes. "You are way out of line with that, Agent Salvatore."

Damon's voice was ice-cold. "You have no idea how much I put into the investigation." With that he turned and left.

Things got better later that evening. Every television station in Chicago led off their six o'clock evening news with his tirade. Damon's comment about assigning the case to somebody with "balls" was—taken literally—a sexist statement that only a male prosecutor could have handled such a tough case.

Needless to say, Damon's boss was not pleased.

Things pretty much went downhill from there.

Then Department of Justice stepped in.

Despite his initial outburst over the situation, Wes worked for two days to appease the DOJ. He emphasized that Damon was Chicago's most talented and dedicated agent and suggested, in terms of a disciplinary action, that Damon issue a formal apology to Miss Gilbert and the U.S. attorney's office and be put on six months' probation. The lawyers at the DOJ said they would take Maxfield's recommendation under advisement.

That Monday morning, Damon got into the office early to start working on his apology. He knew he had been out of line, both with the comments he had made to the reporter and the things he had said to Elena before that. Admittedly, he had handled the situation poorly. Very poorly. On top of the shock and frustration he had felt when hearing her news, the fact that he had come to trust her had only increased his anger. But at this point, he hoped that they could somehow figure out a way to get past the situation and move on.

He had left the door to his office open while he worked, and after a few minutes of staring at a blank computer screen—apologies didn't exactly come easy to him—he was surprised to hear voices coming from Maxfield's office. He had thought he was the only person in that early.

Wes sounded angry. From across the hall, Damon couldn't pick up much of the conversation. But regardless of whomever Wes was talking to, Damon had a pretty good idea who he was talking about. He got up from his desk and headed to his door when—

Maxfield's office door flew open and Elena Gilbert stepped out.

Catching sight of Damon, she stopped in her tracks. A look crossed her face, one that Damon knew well. Over the years, he had seen that expression many times when someone saw him approaching.

Caught.

Elena covered the look quickly, and coolly met his gaze across the hallway. She turned and left, saying nothing.

When Wes stepped out of his office next, he also saw Damon He shook his head sombrely.

That afternoon, the Department of Justice issued an order that Special Agent Damon Salvatore be transferred out of Chicago immediately.

Damon had a feeling he knew just who he could thank for that.


	6. Chapter 6

"It was one of the more embarrassing moments of my life." Elena propped her heels on the ottoman, sank deeper into the brown leather sofa, and sipped on her beer. "The jerk embarrassed me on national television."

"No, the jerk embarrassed himself on national television," Caroline said as she ensconced in the big recliner on the other side of the coffee table, curled one leg under herself. She wrapped her hands around her bottle of beer and smiled wryly. "But is he still just as hot?" Caroline exchanged a look with Matt as he groaned. "Well, one of us had to ask."

"That is kind of irrelevant, don't you think?" Elena managed a coolly disdainful look as she took a sip of her beer. Then she swallowed too fast, nearly choked, and coughed while gasping for air.

Caroline smiled. "I will take that as a yes."

After Damon and Alaric had dropped her off at home, her first plan had been to call both Matt and Caroline. The three of them had been friends since college, and normally she told them everything. But then she was too exhausted and she desperately needed a shower. So instead, Elena had shot each of them a text message asking if they wanted to meet for dinner at her house that night. Then she had crawled into bed after shower and passed out for the next six hours.

They had pizza and beer at her place. Once they had finished eating and were having the last of the beer, Elena began to tell Matt and Caroline about the occurrences of the night before—omitting any mention of Senator Whitmore's involvement, since the FBI was keeping that under wraps. From across the table, she had watched as Matt grew more and more agitated as her story progressed. And a few minutes ago, he had run his hand through his blond hair and folded his arms across his chest—his usual gesture when working through something that bothered him.

"I still can't believe you didn't call either of us from the hotel." Matt sounded pissed. "We are friends, best friends."

Caroline finished her beer. "Matt is right. It sounds like you had a pretty intense night, Elena. You shouldn't have had to go through all that alone."

"I would have called"—Elena said pointedly to Matt—"if the FBI hadn't restricted my calls." She turned to Caroline. "And yes, it was an extremely intense night. Thank you for your concern, Caroline."

"So, how was it seeing Agent Hottie after all this time?" Caroline asked.

"I'm glad you find it so amusing," Elena muttered into her beer. "By the way, he is Agent Asshole," she corrected Caroline. "Agent Hottie" had been her former nickname for Damon, one long since dropped what happened in her office three years ago. "We traded sarcastic barbs and insults the whole time. It was nice, catching up like that."

"Of course you did."

"You are not taking this seriously, are you?"

Caroline raised one brow in a very knowing fashion. "I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, as it were."

Elena frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You are involved in a crime scene," Caroline said. "And Agent Hottie is in charge of the case. Talk about fate."

Elena groaned.

"You don't have to see him again, do you?" Matt asked.

"If there is a god, no." Elena thought about this more seriously. "I don't know, maybe if there are some follow-up questions they need to ask. But I will tell you this: if I do see Damon Salvatore again, it will be on my terms. He may have caught me off guard last night, but next time I will be prepared. And at least I will be dressed appropriately for the occasion."

"What was wrong with the way you were dressed?" Caroline asked.

"I was wearing yoga pants and gym shoes." Elena scoffed. "I might as well have been naked."

Caroline chuckled. "Certainly would have made for a more interesting interrogation."

"What?" Elena demanded.

"I will say one thing about you and Agent Hottie," Caroline murmured. "You two don't get together often, but when you do, it is never dull."

Elena rolled her eyes. "Can we stop talking about Agent Asshole?" She decided it was time to change the subject. "How's the wedding preparation?"

Caroline sighed. "I have to meet with the florist first thing in the morning. I'm going to crash on your sofa tonight, if you don't mind. The florist is just close to your house. I'm not keen to drive all the way from my place to the florist and then back to work again."

Elena shrugged one shoulder casually. "I don't mind. You need to let me help out more, Caroline. I'm worried you will end up having a nervous breakdown before you make it to the wedding."

Caroline exhaled deeply. "I'm trying to tell myself that everything is going fine but it is hard, you know."

"You know how she is—she has been planning this since she was five," Matt said. "Speaking of planning, how is the bachelorette party coming along?"

"Rebekah thinks we need a stripper and she is a hundred per cent sure that her brother Klaus won't mind," Elena said before turning her attention to Caroline. "So, we will go to a club where the stripper will be there. I hope you like it. If you fire me as maid of honour, Matt has to take on the job, you know."

Matt grinned. "Not in a million years, babe."

"Are you alright with seeing Elijah at the wedding?" Caroline asked Elena. She looked serious.

Elijah was the oldest Mikaelson and Elena dated him for a while before she ended their relationship.

She shrugged. "I'm fine. He has moved on. So am I. I heard from Rebekah that he is seeing a girl named Hayley for the past few months."

"Speaking of moving on," Caroline said, "Are you bringing Liam to the wedding? Because I'm kind of supposed to give the caterer a count by Friday."

"Can I get back to you on that, Caroline?" Elena asked. "I'm meeting him on Wednesday."

Liam Davis was an investment banker and also a friend of Klaus. Despite the fact that they had been on a few dates, she hadn't even made a decision on whether she wanted to ask Liam to go with her to the wedding. If it had been in Chicago it would be a no-brainer. But she was on the fence about whether she wanted to spend the entire weekend with him in Michigan, sharing a hotel room. Sure, he would look oh-so-fine on her arm at the wedding—a factor not to be entirely discounted—but personality-wise, he was turning out to be not what she had expected from their initial meeting.

At first, she had thought Liam had gotten her phone number so quickly because he was confident. Now she realized he moved that fast because he had wanted to get her into bed as soon as possible. But Elena had said no. He had apologized, but still, it was a warning sign. A warning sign that the man she was dating was only interested in sex.

"How is Nadia?" Elena looked at Matt. "I haven't seen her for a long time. It would be good to catch up with her at the wedding."

There was a flicker of emotion in Matt's eyes. "Actually, Nadia and I decided to take a break."

Caroline gasped. Elena was shocked. "When did this happen?" she asked.

"Last night. I don't think our relationship works. Anyway, we have been arguing a lot and now…well, here we are."

"Do you think there is any chance it will all blow over in a few days?" Elena asked gently.

Matt shook his head. "I don't think so. I think a major problem is her stupid competition with you and Caroline. She doesn't understand both of you are like my sisters, like my family. If she can't understand it, then I can't do anything about it. So, she is moving her stuff out of the condo tonight. Probably right at this very moment."

"I'm sorry, Matt." Caroline leaped off the recliner and threw her arms around Matt. "One day you will meet someone who appreciates who you are and what you stand for."

"Thank you," Matt said softly before he met Elena's eyes. "I'm glad our friendship I'm glad our friendship is still strong despite our history."

Matt Donovan was the nicest guy she had ever met. And she had come to feel a strong affection for Matt. They had dated for a while when they were in college but Elena had decided to end their relationship after a few months later. She liked Matt more than any other boy she had known but it was the affection of a brother. She cared about him but there was no spark between them. To her relief, Matt totally understood what she meant and they had remained best friends since.

Elena smiled at him. "So, I guess the real question is: do you want crash here tonight?"

"Yes." Matt grinned. "But you have to promise to get me very drunk."

Elena laughed. "As long as you promise to still make breakfast in the morning."

"Babe, I always make breakfast. You can't even warm an Eggo."

"That was one time." Their senior year, and Matt had never let her live it down. "The stupid box said one to two cycles—I did two cycles. How the toaster caught on fire is just as big a mystery to me."

x x x

Across town, Wes Maxfield's door flew open. He stuck his head out and looked over. "Salvatore, Alaric—come inside."

Damon and Alaric took their seats in Maxfield's office, which Damon had always found odd in not being much bigger than those the rest of the Chicago agents had been assigned. He figured the Bureau could at least get the guy a view of something more interesting than the building's parking lot for all the crap he had to deal with as special agent in charge. Then again, knowing Wes, he had probably specifically requested that office in order to keep track of everyone else's comings and goings. There certainly wasn't much that slipped past him.

"I just got off the phone with one of Senator Whitmore's attorneys," Wes began. "He 'requested' that they be kept apprised of any and all updates related to our investigation."

"What did you tell him?" Alaric asked.

"I told him we are working on the case. Now—let's figure out how we are going to handle this mess." He looked to Damon. "What is happening with CPD's investigation?"

"Our contact is Detective Ted Slonsky, twenty years on the job, the last ten in homicide. According to him, the only prints they found in the hotel room belong to the victim and Senator Whitmore. They found traces of semen in the bed and on top of the desk and bathroom vanity, and there were several used condoms in the bathroom garbage. All of it from the same man."

"At least we know Senator Whitmore practices safe sex when cheating on his wife," Wes said. "Anything else?"

"There were bruises on both of the victim's wrists, presumably inflicted by the killer as he pinned his hands down while suffocating him."

"Mandy Robert, aka Mason Robert was only five feet three," Alaric explained. "That would explain why he could disguise himself as a female escort. He is pretty slim too."

"The man from Elena Gilbert's description is almost the same build as Alaric," Damon said. "Mandy Robert wouldn't able to fight a man of that size."

"Any blood at the scene? Hair? Clothing fibres?"

"No traces of blood. We are waiting to hear back from the lab on everything else," Damon told him. "And we didn't get much luckier with hotel security. They don't have cameras in the floor hallways or the stairwells—and although they do have them in the lobby, the garage, and other public areas of the hotel, there is no sign of our guy in any of the footage. Which means that so far, Miss Gilbert's statement is our only evidence that this mysterious second man exists."

Damon saw Wes raise an eyebrow at the mention of Elena's name, but his boss refrained from commenting. At least for the time being.

"All right, here's where we stand," Wes said. "Officially, the Bureau only has jurisdiction over the suspected blackmail aspects of this investigation. Unofficially, however, we have got a U.S. senator having sex on tape with an escort who happened to be a man disguising himself as a woman, who, just moments later, gets smothered to death in that very hotel room—there is no way we are sitting on the sidelines. Do you think this Detective Slonsky is going to be a problem?"

"Not likely. He seemed relieved to have our assistance in light of the senator's involvement," Damon said.

Wes nodded. "Good. Theories?"

Damon paused, letting Alaric take the lead.

Alaric sat up in his chair. "We are currently working on two theories, both based on the assumption that the victim, Mandy Robert, was involved in a plan to blackmail the senator."

"Do we have a basis for that assumption?" Wes asked.

"The videotape was found in her, I should say, his purse. It looks as if the recorder was set up in a way that it started recorded automatically when Whitmore entered the room and it was ended just before he left. So, unless Mandy was making the tape for him as an early Christmas present, I think it is safe to say there were nefarious motives."

Wes looked over at Damon with a bemused grin. "Nefarious. I didn't know your new partner has such a good vocabulary."

"You missed sacrosanct earlier. And taciturn and glowering," Damon said.

"What is glowering?"

"Me, apparently."

Wes didn't answer him, having spun his chair around to type something at his computer. "Let's see what Google says…Ah—here it is. 'Glowering: dark; showing a brooding ill humour.' "

Wes spun back around, with a nod at Alaric. "You know, I think Alaric is right, Damon—you do have a glowering way about you."

Damon cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should get back to our theories," he grumbled.

"Right. So, our first theory is that the escort set up the blackmail scheme—maybe working with someone else, maybe not—and someone connected to the senator found out and killed the escort to keep the affair from becoming public," Alaric said.

"But they left the videotape behind," Wes noted.

"Maybe they didn't know the tape was actually in the room. Or maybe they panicked after killing the escort, or maybe something scared them off, like hearing Miss Gilbert calling security in the next room."

Wes toyed with his pen, considering this. "And the second theory?"

"Our second theory is that the whole thing was a set up and someone killed Mandy Robert to frame the senator for murder. What they didn't count on was Miss Gilbert seeing the real killer leaving the hotel room."

"Going with those two theories for the moment, who does that put on our list of suspects?" Wes asked.

"Pretty much anyone who either likes or hates Senator Whitmore," Alaric said.

"Glad to hear we are narrowing it down." Wes leaned back in his chair, musing aloud. "What do we make of the fact that Whitmore was recently named chairman of the Banking Committee?"

"It is an angle we are looking into," Damon said. "What bothers me are the contradictions: the crime scene is clean—no physical evidence was left behind. That would suggest a professional, somebody who knew what they were doing or at least thought about it in advance. But the murder itself feels amateurish. Angry. Suffocation is a lot more personal than a bullet to the head. Something doesn't add up. I think our first step is to talk to Whitmore's people and find out who knew he was having an affair."

"I'm not sure Senator Whitmore is going to like that idea. Or his attorneys," Wes said.

"Perhaps when we make it clear that the senator's continued cooperation is the only thing keeping him from being arrested for murdering an escort who happened to be a man disguising as a woman, he will warm up to it," Damon said.

"All right—let me know if you need me to run interference with Whitmore's lawyers. Last thing—what is happening with our witness? Sounds like the senator caught a break having Miss Gilbert in the room next to him."

"For starters, very few people outside this room know there is a witness," Alaric said. "We are keeping that quiet for now. As a courtesy, Detective Slonsky sent a squad to drive by her house tonight, although the officers haven't been given any specifics about the case. They called in just a few minutes ago and reported that Miss Gilbert returned to the house with a male companion and that everything looked secure."

"Do we have a reason to believe Miss Gilbert is in danger?" Wes asked.

"Not as long as her identity is kept confidential," Alaric said.

Wes saw Damon hesitate. "You have a different opinion, Damon?"

"I don't like the idea of our key witness's security being dependent on our belief that everyone will keep her identity confidential. Seems like an unnecessary risk."

Wes nodded. "I agree. And given Miss Gilbert's position, I would like to err on the side of caution here. Politically, it would be a nightmare if something happened to an assistant U.S. attorney as part of an FBI investigation."

"We will set up a protective surveillance," Damon said. "We can coordinate with CPD on that."

"Good." Wes pointed. "I also want twice-daily reports from you two. And I have a call scheduled for Monday morning to update the director on the investigation—I expect you both to be present for that." Then he turned to look at Damon. "Should I be worried, Damon?"

Damon's jaw tightened. "About what?"

Wes watched Damon with sharp green eyes. "My understanding is that Miss Gilbert has been very cooperative in this investigation."

"She has."

"I expect us to reciprocate."

"Of course."

There was a moment of silence, and Damon knew Wes was taking in the taut set of his jaw and the tension that rolled off his body in waves.

"I'm not trying to be a hard-ass here," Wes said, not unkindly. "If it is going to be a problem for you to work with her—"

"There won't be any problem." Damon stared his boss straight in the eyes. Elena Gilbert may have been a problem for him once, but that was not a mistake he would repeat. "This is just another case, and I will handle it like any other."

"Damon is professional, I trust he can do the job," Alaric added.

"Miss Gilbert should be made aware of the protective surveillance. I would like her to feel comfortable with this. It is going to be somewhat of an intrusion."

"Not a problem. I will talk to her about it first thing tomorrow," Damon said.


	7. Chapter 7

Matt was sprinkling cheese on top of the frittatas when the doorbell rang. Considering that it wasn't his house, and also considering that Elena hadn't mentioned that she was expecting anybody, he ignored it. Just as he was putting the skillet under the broiler, the doorbell rang again. Twice.

Matt shut the oven. "All right, all right," he grumbled. He cut through the dining and living rooms and headed to the front door. It was when he reached to unlock the deadbolt that he realized he was still wearing the oven mitts. He took one off and opened the door. He found two guys on the doorstep, staring at him in surprise.

Matt's eyes passed over the man in the tailored suit and rested on the other guy, the one wearing jeans and a blazer.

Well, well, well…if it wasn't Special Agent Damon Salvatore in the flesh.

Matt straightened up. It may have been three years, but no introduction was necessary. He knew exactly who the guy was from all the media coverage surrounding the Lockwood investigation and the subsequent fallout with Elena. Not to mention, Damon Salvatore was not a man who was easily forgotten. With a lean, muscular build and a face that was just almost too handsome, Damon Salvatore was one of those men that made other men wish they weren't standing on a doorstep wearing red-checked oven mitts.

But just as he was starting to feel a bit territorial and defensive, Matt noticed that Damon was similarly studying him. And maybe the scrutinizing once-over was simply the instinctive reaction of the FBI agent, but a man could usually sense when he was being sized up.

Feeling good about having the upper hand, Matt smiled. "Gentlemen. Can I help you?"

Damon's eyes lingered on the oven mitts. What he made of them was tough to say.

He pulled a badge out of his jacket. "I'm Special Agent Damon Salvatore with the FBI, this is Agent Alaric Saltzman. We would like to speak with Elena Gilbert."

"She is in the shower. Been in there for a while, so I don't think it will be much longer." Matt gestured inside the house. "I have got something in the oven. You guys want to come in?"

Leaving the door open, Matt turned and headed back to the kitchen to check on the frittata. As he took the skillet out of the oven and set it on the counter, he watched out of the corner of his eye as the two agents stepped into the living room and shut the front door behind them. He could see Damon was doing a quick survey of the house.

Matt pulled the oven mitts off. "Why don't you come in—I will go check on Elena and let her know you're here."

He felt Damon's eyes on him as he made his way up the wide, open staircase that led to the upper floors. On the second floor, he entered the first room on the right, the master suite. The shower was still running, so he knocked and opened the door a crack.

"You have got visitors, Elena," Matt said, trying not to let his voice carry. "FBI wants to talk to you." He shut the door and went back downstairs, where he found the two agents waiting in the kitchen. "It shouldn't be much longer. Can I get either of you a cup of coffee or tea?"

"I'm fine, thank you, Mr…." Damon cocked his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Matt Donovan."

A look of recognition crossed Alaric's face. "You are Matt Donovan. That's why you looked familiar when you opened the door."

Damon's eyes darted between them. "I'm missing something here. Do you know him, Alaric?"

"He is Matt Donovan," Alaric emphasized. "The sportswriter."

Damon shook his head. No clue. Matt tried to decide how offended he was by this.

Alaric explained. "He does a weekly column for the Sun-Times where he writes directly to the teams—you know, 'Dear Manager,' 'Dear Coach So-And-So'—and he makes recommendations on trades, what players to start, how to improve the team, those kinds of things." He turned back to Matt. "I read your column every week."

Matt smiled. "Thanks for your support. I really appreciate it."

Damon turned to Matt. "Sorry I didn't recognize the name. I have been out of touch for a while."

"Oh? The Sun-Times doesn't deliver to Nebraska?" Matt quipped without thinking.

He saw the flicker in Damon's eyes and could read the agent's thoughts as clearly as if there was a cartoon bubble above his head. _So…he knows where I have been the last three years. She has talked about me to this joker, then. Who is he, and how much does he know? Except on the issue of sports, a subject on which he clearly is all-knowing._

"Actually, I meant that I had been working undercover the last time I lived in this city and didn't have much time to read the paper." Damon eased back against the counter and took in the kitchen, a room much higher on Elena's totem pole that recently had been remodelled. His gaze fell to the hardwood at his feet. "The floors turned out great. You have a very nice place here."

"I will be sure to pass your compliments along to Elena," Matt said.

"Oh, I assumed you lived here as well."

"Nope, just visiting."

A smoky, feminine voice interrupted them. "And apparently letting unexpected visitors into my house."

The three men turned and found Elena standing in the doorway. She wore jeans and a dark blue T-shirt that hugged tight to her chest, and she had her long hair pulled up into some sort of ponytail/bun-type thing. She looked adorable in a fresh-faced, kicking-back-on-the-weekend kind of way.

Matt stood farther from the doorway, where he had a view of Damon. And although it was subtle, he was pretty sure he saw the agent run his eyes over Elena before resuming his guarded expression.

 _Interesting,_ Matt thought.

Elena folded her arms across her chest. "Agent Salvatore…this is a surprise. I wasn't aware we had an appointment this morning." She peered around Damon and her expression turned warmer. "Hello, Agent Saltzman. Nice to see you again. Sorry if I kept you waiting."

"No problem—we were just catching up with Matt here," Alaric said.

Elena turned her attention back to Damon. "What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk," Damon said as he glanced briefly at Matt. "In private."

"Are you sure, Elena?" Matt asked as he eyed Damon with caution.

Alaric patted Matt's shoulder. "Don't worry. We will take care of your girlfriend."

Matt rolled his eyes. "Elena and I aren't dating."

Elena watched as Damon and Alaric processed the meaning of Matt's remark. Alaric blinked. "I didn't realise the two of you aren't…"

"We used to date in college," Matt explained. "But we are best friends now. I treat Elena like my sister." He turned his attention to the two men. "Alaric—it was a pleasure; it is always nice to meet a fan. And as for you Agent Salvatore—man-to-man, don't ever try to insult my friend here again. You have no idea how much hard work she has put into her work."

Everyone in the room was silent. Damon was not sure what he should say or do.

Elena cleared her throat after a moment. "We can talk in the guest room."

"How long have you known Matt Donovan?" Alaric asked after Elena shut the door behind them.

"Since college. We lived together our senior year, along with our friend Caroline. He gets a little protective sometimes," Elena said as she walked towards the single bed she had put in the guest room. "I assume this has something to do with the Whitmore investigation?"

"Yes," Damon answered.

"Do you have a lead in the investigation?" Elena asked as she sat on the edge of the bed.

"Not yet," Damon said. "We are waiting on the lab reports, and we are going to interview Senator Whitmore's staff over the next few days. The purpose of this visit is to discuss some security issues related to you."

Elena's eyes widened, not liking the sound of that. "What kind of security issues?"

"We would like to place you under protective surveillance."

She felt her stomach tighten into a hard knot. "You think that is necessary?"

"Consider it a precautionary measure."

"Why? Do you have a reason to believe that I'm in danger?"

"I would put anyone who witnessed this high-profile of a murder under surveillance," Damon said vaguely.

"That is not an answer." Elena turned to his partner. "Come on, Alaric—you are the good cop. Level with me."

Alaric smiled. "Surprisingly, I don't think Damon is trying to be the bad cop this time. He is the one who suggested that you be protected."

"If that is the case, then I must really be toast."

Shockingly, Elena could have sworn she saw Damon's lips twitch at the corners.

"You are not toast," he said. "If it makes you feel better, there are politics in play here. Wes isn't going to let anything happen to a federal prosecutor who is assisting an FBI investigation."

"You are still skirting around the issue. Why is it even theoretically possible that I would be in danger? The killer never saw me."

"We have a couple of theories about what went on in that hotel room," Damon said. "My instinct is that someone was trying to frame Senator Whitmore for murder. If that is the case, when that someone realizes that the FBI hasn't arrested Whitmore, he is going to start wondering why. And although your involvement in this case is being kept confidential, we would be foolish to ignore the risk of a leak. I would like to be prepared for that possibility."

"But I barely got a look at the guy," Elena said. "He could walk right up to me on the street and I wouldn't recognize him."

"That is exactly why you are under protective custody."

Elena fell silent. Sure, she had always known the situation was serious—someone had been smothered to death, after all—but in the hours that had passed since Friday night, she had been hoping, perhaps naively, that her involvement in the mystery surrounding Mandy Robert's death and the blackmailing of Senator Whitmore was primarily over.

She reached up and pinched between her eyes, feeling a headache coming on. "I could have stayed at any other hotel that night, but no—it had to be the Peninsula."

"We will keep you safe, Elena."

She peered up at the unexpected words of reassurance. Damon seemed about to say something else, then his expression turn impassive once again. "You are our key witness, after all," he added.

"So will it be just you two watching me, or will there be other federal agents involved?" Elena asked.

"Actually, since the Bureau has primary investigative responsibility, CPD will handle the protective custody," Alaric said.

So, it wouldn't be Damon guarding her. "Oh. Good." The idea of being in continual contact with him unnerved her. Not because she couldn't handle him, but because she didn't need him glaring at her all day long. Those dark, watchful eyes were enough to put anyone on edge.

"How will this protective surveillance work?" As a prosecutor, she'd had cases where she had placed a witness in protective custody—usually, as Damon had said, merely as a precautionary gesture—but she had never been on this end of things.

"There will be a car posted in front of your house whenever you are here, and the officers will follow you to and from work. When you get to your office, you will be protected there by building security," Damon said.

Elena nodded. The U.S. attorney's offices were located in the Dirksen Federal Building, along with the U.S. District Court for the Northern District of Illinois and the Seventh Circuit Court of Appeals. Everyone entering the building had to pass through metal detectors, and anyone wanting to access her floor needed proper identification. "What about when I go places other than work or home?"

"Such as?"

"I don't know, all the places people usually go. To the grocery store. To the gym. Or to meet my friends for lunch."

"I guess you will just have to get used to having a police car outside the grocery store, the gym, and wherever it is you go for lunch with your friends," Damon lectured. "And this goes without saying: you need to be careful. The police surveillance is a precautionary measure, but they can't be everywhere. You should stick to familiar surroundings, and be vigilant and alert at all times."

"I got it. No walking through dark alleys while talking on my cell phone, no running at night with my iPod, no checking out suspicious noises in the basement."

"I seriously hope you are not doing any of those things anyway."

"Of course not."

Damon pinned her with his gaze.

She shrugged one shoulder casually. "Okay, maybe, sometimes, I have been known to listen to a Black Eyed Peas song or two while running at night. They get me moving after a long day at work."

Damon seemed wholly unimpressed with this excuse. "Well, you and the Peas better get used to running indoors on a treadmill."

Conscious of Alaric's presence, and the fact that he was watching her and Damon with what appeared to be amusement, Elena bit back her retort.

Thirty thousand hotel rooms in the city of Chicago and she picked the one that would lead her back to him.

When she went back into the kitchen after Damon and Alaric had left, she saw Matt gazing at her.

"What?" she demanded.

"What's with you and Agent Hottie?"

Elena snorted. "He is Agent Asshole, remember? You shouldn't let him in."

"There was a badge. And some mildly intimidating gazes. I felt it was best to cooperate."

She made a face. "I don't want him in my house."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you would get this flustered over Damon Salvatore."

Elena scoffed at this. "I'm not flustered. I just prefer to handle him on my terms. As in, at my office, at a time when I'm more prepared for a business meeting."

Matt's gaze fell to her bare feet. "You are losing clothing every time you see him. At this rate, you will be naked in front of him before you know it."

Then the strangest thing happened.

Elena blushed.

"I'm perfectly capable of keeping my clothes on around him, thank you," she said, her cheeks tinged rosy pink.

Matt was intrigued. He couldn't recall the last time he had seen Elena blush because of a guy.

The plot thickened. She liked Damon Salvatore, Matt said to himself.

"He is even better looking in person," Matt said, seizing the opportunity to probe deeper. "No wonder you nicknamed him Agent Hottie."

Elena threw him the evil-eye as she dropped into a chair. "I'm hungry. We are so not going to have this conversation right now."

Matt grinned. "You seem pretty tense. Are you getting any sex these days?"

"My God, Matt…time and place."

"Fine. We will continue this conversation later. Breakfast is ready. I need to get going soon. By the way, I make frittatas instead of omelette. "

She picked up her fork. "It smells fantastic."

x x x

How would he know when Ink Man logged on?

Trevor sat in front of his laptop computer, waiting patiently for The Ink Man to appear online. Ink Man - that was all his contact had told him.

Was he in the wrong place? He had logged on around seven o'clock, wanting to be there when Ink Man arrived. But it was after eight now, and there was still no sign of the Ink Man.

His contact had told him to log on to this chat room and wait for Ink Man to add him as a friend. Ink Man had been notified that someone was looking for information.

What if Ink Man had changed his mind about coming? Trevor thought. But his contact told him that Ink Man would appear once he had been notified.

 _Ink Man: Hi, I heard you are looking for me._

Trevor blinked at the blue box that had suddenly appeared on his screen. Ink Man had sent him a message. He felt a moment of panic because he wasn't sure how to respond.

 _Ink Man: I hear you are looking for information about an FBI investigation, Mr Lombard._

 _Lombard: Yes._

 _Ink Man: How can I help?_

 _Lombard: I heard that Richard Lockwood might be able to assist me._

 _Ink Man: Mr Lockwood doesn't assist people, Mr Lombard. People assist him. Tell me something—does Senator Whitmore know you are here?_

 _Lombard: How do you know I work for Whitmore?_

 _Ink Man: We have contacts. We know everything._

Trevor swallowed hard as he read the message. He couldn't let Ink Man know that he was nervous. He had to play this game carefully.

 _Lombard: Since you know that I work for Whitmore, helping me will be a great opportunity for Mr Lockwood. Having a connection to Senator Whitmore could be useful to your boss one day._

 _Ink Man: Maybe._

 _Lombard: Perhaps you would be more interested to learn that Senator Whitmore and Mr Lockwood share a common enemy/_

 _Ink Man: Lockwood has many enemies. You will have to be specific._

 _Lombard: Damon Salvatore._

 _Ink Man: What is it you want, Lombard?_

 _Lombard: Salvatore is the lead agent in a murder investigation that implicates Whitmore. The FBI is hiding something from us. The senator's chief of staff has asked me to find out what that something is. He would, of course, be very grateful for your help with this matter. As the senator's primary advisor, he would hope to be able to return the favour someday._

There was no reply from Ink Man. Trevor held his breath.

 _Ink Man: This man will help you. Meet him at this address at eight o'clock on Saturday night. You now owe us, Lombard. Not some chief of staff or anyone else—you. So, I hope whatever information this man has, it is worth it._

A jpg file was sent to Trevor. He clicked on the download and waited nervously for the image, then couldn't believe what filled his screen.

 _This can't be right,_ Trevor thought. He wanted to ask Ink Man what the hell was going on but Ink Man had already logged off.

Trevor glanced at the image in front of him. This was a surprising turn of events. He didn't know the man personally, but of course he recognized the name. Anyone connected to U.S. politics and law enforcement, especially in Chicago, would recognize it.

Nathan Silas.


	8. Chapter 8

"So, what are you thinking?"

Damon rubbed his hand over his face and looked across his desk at Alaric. "I'm thinking that if I never see another lawyer again for the rest of my life, it will be too soon."

As expected, the footage from the hotel's video cameras hadn't produced any leads, and they had now turned their attention to questioning Senator Whitmore and his staff. Of course, his team of attorneys had made things as difficult as possible. But at least they had learned a few things: several members of Whitmore's team had admitted knowing about his various affairs with the escorts, and a handful even acknowledged knowing about Mandy Robert specifically.

The first two people they had interviewed were Tanner Driscoll, the senator's chief of staff, and Trevor Lombard, his personal security guard. When questioned, both Driscoll and Lombard claimed to have been at home sleeping at the time of Mandy Robert's murder. For both men, there appeared to be no evidence to either contradict or confirm this. They both acknowledged that they were aware of Whitmore's affair with Mandy Robert; in fact, both admitted knowing that Whitmore planned to see Mandy the night of his murder. Lombard had made the arrangements with the escort agency (which Whitmore admitted was something he asked Lombard to do for that night), and Driscoll had attended the charity dinner with the senator and claimed to have learned then of Whitmore's plans to see Mandy Robert later in the evening.

Neither Lombard nor Driscoll had been particularly forthcoming about Whitmore's affairs, but as the senator's bodyguard and chief of staff, they weren't expected to be. And though neither had an alibi, seeing how both men claimed to be home at the time of the murder, sleeping alone (Driscoll was divorced and Lombard had never married), this again was not unusual. However, both did fit the rough physical description Elena had given of the man she had seen leaving room 1308.

It wasn't a lot, Damon knew, but it was enough to look into both men further.

"Let's get Driscoll and Lombard's phone records and cross reference them with the numbers we have for Mandy Robert," Damon told Alaric. "And we should pull their credit card statements for the past two years—see if anything unusual turns up. In the meantime, we need to get started on that list Whitmore gave us of people he believes might have a grudge against him."

"If the media founds out Whitmore is screwing men who disguise themselves as women, his career is gone," Alaric said.

"That is why his team of attorney is making this so hard for us," Damon explained. "We have to make sure nobody knows about Whitmore's affairs while we investigate the case."

Alaric nodded in agreement just as the phone rang. Damon saw the call was coming from the lobby security desk.

"Salvatore," he answered.

"One of the officers from the Chicago Police Department on the phone. He says he had to speak to you urgently," said the evening security guard.

"I'm sorry to bother you," the officer started right in as soon as the connection went through, "I'm Ken Garrett, working for Detective Slonsky. It is about Miss Gilbert…"

"Is something wrong?" Damon asked. Hearing this, Alaric looked over.

"My partner, Carson and I are supposed to be watching her tonight," Ken said. "But…"

Damon didn't like the sound of it. "What's wrong?"

"She is on a date tonight and they had left the restaurant," Ken stuttered. "We lost her."

"What do you mean by you lost her?" Damon demanded.

"Her date is driving a flash car…" Ken answered nervously. "It is so fast and we couldn't keep up."

Damon gritted his teeth. "Did you call her cell phone?"

"She is not answering her cell phone. I have called her several times and I keep getting her voicemail."

Damon paused at this. "Do you know the name of her date?"

"Liam Davis," Ken answered. "He is an investment banker. He is good-looking and we thought it would be fine since Miss Gilbert said they have been seeing each other for the past few weeks…"

Damn, Damon cursed silently. "Okay—we will look into it. You keep on searching for the car in the meantime."

He hung up and turned to Alaric. "That was Ken Garrett from CPD. They have lost Elena on the way. He says Elena is not answering her cell phone. I think we should check it out. She is with someone called Liam Davis, an investment banker. Check him out."

"Maybe she has gone home," Alaric said. "Why don't I stay here and keep trying to call Elena and find out about Liam Davis, while you head over to her house and check things out? With your ride, you will be there and back in fifteen minutes."

Damon nodded—he had been thinking along those same lines. There were plenty of perfectly innocuous reasons Elena might not have been answering her phone. But the thought of that one not-so-innocuous reason got him moving. Fast. He grabbed his keys and shoved them in the back pocket of his jeans. "If you get through to the her, confirm that everything is okay, then call me. Most likely, this is all a lot of nothing."

"And if it isn't nothing?" Alaric asked.

Damon yanked open the top right drawer of his desk and pulled out his backup gun, a subcompact Glock 27. He strapped it into a harness around his ankle. "Then I will make it nothing, as soon as I get there."

Because no one messed with his witnesses.

Not even this one.

x x x

"Your date, whoever the hell is he, is a no gentleman."

The voice was low and rough around the edges, unmistakably masculine. The kind of voice that sent little shivers down a woman's spine.

Elena jerked her gaze away from the sight of Liam's disappearing taillights and spun around. Her pulse, already beating briskly as a result of the unpleasant tussle in the front seat, shifted into high gear. She recognised the voice. His voice.

Her first reaction to the realization that he had witnessed the struggle in the front seat of Liam's car was overwhelming mortification. She had rarely indulged in public scenes. Just her dumb luck to have Damon hanging around when she broke that unwritten rule. Fate was so clearly mocking her. Anger warred with acute embarrassment.

"Do you do this a lot?" she asked gruffly.

"Do what a lot?"

"Spying on people who want to have private conversations." She frowned. "what are you doing here?"

"The officers lost you and your date. They couldn't reach you, got nervous, and called me. So here I am."

Elena ran her hands through her hair, feeling very tired. It had been a long day – she had a busy day at the court and in her office, and then now she had been ditched by her date. From the look on Damon's face, he was gearing up for another sparring match and she wasn't sure she had it in her right then.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I will phone Officer Garrett to let him know I'm back at my house safely. Glower at me all you want—you have earned it this time."

Damon said nothing.

"That's it? I expected there to be a lot more. You know, with the growling and scowling."

"I'm not glowering at you. But make sure it won't happen again, okay?"

Elena nodded. They stood there in silence for a moment, each one studying the other warily.

"You sort of implied that you and the guy who just took off came back here to talk privately." Damon led in. "But I didn't get the feeling that the two of you were having what you would call a meaningful conversation. Who was the jerk, anyway?"

Elena checked her grin just in time. "His name is Liam Davis. He is a friend of Caroline's fiancé. Not that it's any of your business."

"Guess he thought the evening was going to end a little differently."

"Liam is okay. He just got a little pushy tonight, that's all."

"Pushy, huh? Is that what you call it?" Damon gave an easy shrug. "Well, it looked like you pushed back pretty good. For a minute there, I thought you might need a little help, but then I realized that you were handling him just fine on your own."

"Liam is hardly the violent type." Outrage flared inside her. "He is an investment banker."

"Is that right? If I had known that, I wouldn't have worried about you even half a minute while the two of you were staging that arm-wrestling contest. I mean, an investment banker wouldn't try to force himself on a woman. Don't know what I was thinking."

She was profoundly grateful for the simple fact that it was dark outside her house. At least Damon could not see the hot colour she was almost sure was staining her face a vivid shade of pink. "There is no call to be sarcastic. Liam and I had a disagreement, that's all."

"So, do you date a lot of jerks?"

"Stop calling Liam a jerk."

"I was just curious. Can't blame me under the circumstances, can you?"

"Yes, I can and I do." She glared. "You are being deliberately obnoxious."

"But not quite as obnoxious as the jerk, huh? I haven't even touched you."

"Oh, shut up. I'm going home." She turned and headed towards her front gate.

"Hold on—I need to check out your house."

She stopped, having forgotten about that. "Well, let's hurry up, then," she said over her shoulder. She got to the gate and reached for the handle when his hand came down over hers.

"Now that we are working together, maybe we should talk about what happened three years ago," Damon said quietly.

She turned around. "I don't think there's anything that could be said that would do us any good."

Damon surprised her with his response. "I was wrong to say those things to that reporter. I knew it right after I said it. That was…a rough time for me. I was going to apologize to you. Of course, I never got the chance."

It was as she had expected. He blamed her for his transfer, never realizing how close he had come to being dismissed from the FBI. Nathan was so determined to get Damon fired for inappropriate conduct because of his comments. Elena suspected this had less to do with Nathan being offended on her behalf, and more to do with keeping everyone's focus on something other than the real issue: his decision to not file charges against Richard Lockwood.

Nathan never knew she had pulled all her strings at the DOJ to stop the dismissal. Part of her was tempted to tell Damon the truth and just get it all out there. But he was so angry with her about the Lockwood case—about everything—that she didn't know how he would react. Logically, there was no good reason why she should trust Damon. So she continued dodging the issue. "I appreciate your apology," she said matter-of-factly, hoping that would end the conversation.

His face hardened. "That's it?"

"There is not much more I can say about what happened back then." Without taking a risk that the information would get back to Nathan.

"You can tell me why you did it. I know you were pissed off about the things I said, but did the sight of me really offend you so much that you needed to have me thrown out of the entire city?"

Elena knew it was time to end this conversation. "This isn't a good idea, us talking about this," she said, turning her back to him.

She felt Damon's hand on her shoulder. "Don't do this, Elena," he said in a soft voice.

It was too much, hearing Damon speak like that. She needed to make him stop. She forced herself to look indifferent as she turned around. "What do you want, Damon? Because I was thinking, for once, that maybe you could just back off."

Damon's face hardened at her words, which unfortunately had come out sounding harsher than she had meant them to.

He pulled back and folded his arms over his chest. "I saw you come out of Maxfield's office that morning, Elena."

Her eyes flashed with anger. "You saw what you wanted to see," she snapped.

Elena saw surprise register on Damon's face and knew she had said too much. "Dammit, Damon. Just let it go." She opened the gate and backed toward the front steps.

Damon took a step towards her. "What did you mean, when you said that I saw what I wanted to see that morning?" He studied her face, searching for answers. "What else should I have seen?"

Elena held her ground. "If this is some kind of interrogation technique, it's not working."

"I'm awfully good at this when I need to be, you know."

"How fortunate then that I don't plan for us to do a lot of talking."

Damon continued to advance towards her. "We will continue this conversation."

"No, we won't." She put her hand on the stone ledge and slowly climbed up the stairs.

He stepped closer to her. Then closer again, literally backing her towards the door. He had her pressed against the door, his body against hers, her hand pinned to her side as he glared down at her. She glared up at him right back.

He was furious. So was she.

Neither of them moved. And in that moment, the strangest thought popped into Elena's head.

She had the feeling that Damon was going to kiss her.

And—even stranger—she had a feeling that she just might let him.

Damon must have read the look on her face. Elena saw his eyes flash—but not with anger this time—and she felt his hand suddenly reach for the nape of her neck, the strength of his arms pulling her in, his head bending down to hers, and even as she cursed him for thinking she would ever, ever allow it, she closed her eyes and parted her lips and—

"Uh, Miss Gilbert."

Her eyes snapped opened and she saw Damon pulled back. She looked over his shoulder and saw a familiar face standing at her gate. Ken Garrett.

"I will check out the house." Damon gestured to her door. "Do you have your keys?"

She nodded, trying to clear her head. "In my purse." She pulled the keys out and unlocked the door.

Damon moved past her and stepped inside. "Stay in the doorway, where Officer Garett can see you." Then he went to search her house.

x x x

Temporary insanity.

That was her defence.

The stress of what had happened between Liam and she in the car had momentarily made her lose it, all the marbles, gone.

Not to mention being under the protection surveillance by the police because she was the key witness of a crime. Her life hadn't been normal since that night in Peninsula.

But all that had now passed.

Elena thankfully was once again clearheaded and focused.

This was insane. Her mind was quickly coming to terms with the fact that she had almost just made a very big mistake.

How could she let Damon Salvatore kiss her?

This was so insane!

She called Matt once she was inside the house. She told her best friend everything. Everything about her date with Liam. She did not, however, see any point in discussing her confrontation with Damon. And she certainly did not mention anything about the kiss.

It was a mistake, she told herself.

At the end of the conversation, Elena checked her voice mail and discovered that she had a message from Nathan. It was about her being placed under protection surveillance. Although his words were polite, there was a hint of annoyance in his voice. Perhaps anger, even. And he demanded a meeting with her first thing in the morning.

It was not a good night. Definitely not.

Across town, Damon was last person to leave the office that night.

He still didn't understand why he kissed Elena in the first place. Clearly, that had been a mistake.

No, he didn't kiss Elena. He "nearly" kissed her, he corrected. If he had actually kissed Elena, he would have to acknowledge that fact, even if only to himself. But when it was only nearly a kiss, he could go on pretending that nothing had ever happened. Which was exactly what he planned to do.

He preferred it when nothing had ever happened. Things were much simpler when nothing had happened.


	9. Chapter 9

At eight o'clock on Saturday, Trevor waited in his car at the location Ink Man had given him. The address had turned out to be an abandoned warehouse on the city's west side.

Trevor grew uneasy. He didn't like how things were going. Firstly, Whitmore was not arrested which could only mean the FBI was hiding something. Secondly, the person who could help him was Nathan Silas.

He knew he had killed someone but he wasn't particularly bothered by this fact, if anything he was more annoyed by the inconvenience of having to clean up the mess he had left behind. He couldn't let anyone figure out it was Nancy who was behind this.

Trevor was in the Army for almost ten years and in his line of work he had dealt with many an unsavoury character, but doing business with the likes of Richard Lockwood's men was an entirely different matter. Unfortunately, it was a necessary evil given the FBI's involvement in the murder investigation. He felt confident that he could have handled the situation had only the Chicago police department been involved. But he worried about Damon Salvatore and whatever it was that the FBI agent knew.

He didn't like having to worry about these things.

Trevor heard the crunch of gravel and saw a black Mercedes pull up in front of the warehouse. He got out of his car and walked over.

The door of the Mercedes opened, and the driver got out. Trevor grinned. Lockwood really did have friends in high places.

"Mr U.S. Attorney. How ironic that we should meet under these circumstances."

Nathan Silas glanced around, looking both annoyed and nervous. "Ink Man said you want my help, Lombard," he said.

Trevor leaned casually against the Mercedes. "The senator needs your assistance, and I have been told by Ink Man that you could be helpful."

"What is it the senator is looking for?"

"Information. The FBI is hiding something, and we need to know what that is."

Nathan laughed scornfully. "So, Whitmore really killed Mandy Robert, huh? Hell, I didn't think he had it in him. And you are stuck with clean-up duty now, is that it?"

"Something like that. But you know you shouldn't ask so many questions. Maybe instead you should just tell me about the Robert murder investigation."

Nathan made a big show of trying not to look nervous, but Trevor could see it in his eyes. No balls. Frankly, he was an embarrassment to his office. He doubted it took much for Lockwood to buy him off.

"That investigation is being kept confidential," Nathan said.

"Glad to hear it. Now cut the crap and tell me what Salvatore knows."

Trevor saw Nathan swallowed hard.

"I told you, it is confidential. Even I'm not in the loop."

"Why don't I believe you?" Trevor asked. "I would hate to have to leak it to the press that Chicago's U.S. attorney has been accepting bribes from one of the country's biggest crime lords."

Nathan swallowed again.

Trevor cocked his head. This was getting interesting, he thought. "What can you tell me? Don't play games with me, Mr U.S. Attorney."

Nathan cleared his throat. "There is a witness."

A witness. Trevor couldn't believe his ears.

He grabbed Nathan by the collar and was satisfied when he saw the look of surprise and fear in his eyes.

"What does this witness know?" He nearly spat in his face.

"I don't know. That is the truth," Nathan stammered. "Salvatore is protecting her. That's all I know. I swear."

Her. So it was a woman, Trevor cursed silently.

He curled his fingers tighter around Nathan's collar. "What is her name?"

When Nathan continued to stall, Trevor gave him another shake for good measure. "Answer me."

Nathan swallowed.

"Elena Gilbert."

x x x

"This is a bad idea."

Damon stood on the club's front stoop, arguing with Alaric. Partners or not, he had to draw the line somewhere.

"Too late. We are already here," Alaric said.

Damon pointed to the club. "You can't seriously be thinking about going in there."

"Why not? I'm going in all right. And you are, too, partner."

"I'm not going to infiltrate a bachelorette party."

"You are the one who want to see her, Damon," Alaric reminded him.

"Sure, I want to see her—so that she can look at these photographs."

Yesterday they had flown to New York to follow up on the list of individuals who might hold a grudge against Whitmore, a list based primarily on his recent appointment as chairman of the Senate Committee on Banking, Housing, and Urban Affairs. While he and Alaric were in New York, Damon had one of the investigative specialists at their office pull together a file of photographs of all the people they had interviewed over the last week. The original plan, before their flight had been delayed, had been that he and Alaric would drop by the office to pick up the file, then swing over to Elena's place to show her the photographs. Damon hoped she might recognize someone she had seen earlier in the evening, prior to the murder—perhaps someone she had noticed in the lobby, the restaurant, or even better, on the thirteenth floor.

"Elena is inside the club, just go in," Alaric said.

"I want to show her these photographs at her place," Damon growled. "Not in a club."

"Then talk to her on Monday."

Damon shook his head. "She will be back in her office on Monday and I would prefer not to talk there. No one is supposed to know she is working with us on this case."

"Then go in, partner."

As far as bachelorette parties went, this one was amazing. That was what Elena had felt. Spending time with Caroline, her friends and cousins was fun. The party was being at Hot Zone, the newest nightclub in Chicago and Elena couldn't think of a better place to have a bachelorette party. Caroline was having fun. She was laughing with Rebekah and her cousins while telling a story.

Elena lifted her beer to her lips and stepped closer to the second-floor railing that overlooked the crowded dance floor below. Hot Zone was one of those establishments that didn't care much for lighting. Darkness fell over the entire club, broken only by the bright flashes of the strobe lights. A sultry salsa beat pounded out of the speaker system, the heavy bass making the floor beneath her feet vibrate, and down on the dance floor, couples grinded together to the music. One of the couples wasn't doing much dancing. Just standing in the middle of the floor, making out as if they were the only two people in the room.

Next to Elena, April tapped one hand on the iron railing and frowned at the display of vertical sex happening below. "Damn, I really need to get laid," April grumbled. She took a swig of beer then slammed the bottle back on the table they had been standing around for the past hour. Glancing over at the long chrome bar counter behind them, April frowned again and added, "And if anyone suggests I hop into bed with one of those old dudes by the bar, I will kick your ass."

Elena laughed. "The bald one is kind of cute. I bet he'd do you."

"It is not funny, Elena," April said with a sigh. "Man, I would give up everything to meet a sexy and gorgeous man. Someone like Liam."

Elena stifled a groan. She hadn't told anyone about her last date with Liam. Not even Matt or Caroline. She couldn't believe how Liam really behaved in the front seat of the car that night. All she ever said to Matt and Caroline was that they had argued. She never told them how Liam tried to force himself on her.

"Stop acting like you are starved for sex," Elena said to April. "Didn't you go out with that redhead from your HR department last weekend?"

April groaned. "Unfortunately. But he was so boring. I nearly fell asleep while having my dinner."

Elena chuckled. "You will get yourself in trouble if you are that desperate, you know that?"

Craning her neck, April looked around the crowd in the club. "My God! Who is that?" She reached out and grabbed Elena's arm. "He is absolutely gorgeous."

Elena swivelled her head, just in time to see a man wearing a dark blazer emerged from the shadows. Her heart skipped a beat. Damon. The second floor of the club had a loft feel to it, a huge open space with a handful of floor-to-ceiling beams, and that was why Elena hadn't even seen him approach.

"He is looking at us!" April whispered, with a small drunken giggle. "He is so sexy."

He wore jeans and a dark blazer with an open-necked shirt. Objectively, Elena knew what April saw: the tall, dark, whatever-ness; the gorgeous face, blah, blah; the sexy, lean, body that was tailor-made for all kinds of sin—who cared? Certainly she wasn't paying any attention to those things.

"I have seen better-looking men," Elena answered casually while taking another sip of her beer.

April winked. "Sure you have."

Elena looked at Damon as he stopped in front of them. "Do you often crash bachelorette parties?"

"For the record, it was Alaric's idea to come inside," Damon replied.

"Where is Alaric anyway," Elena asked.

"He is getting himself a drink." Damon held up a file. "I need to talk to you.

"Okay. Talk."

"Alone."

Standing next to her, April was wide-eyed, mesmerized at the sight of Damon. "I'm happy to talk to you if Elena doesn't."

Damon gritted his teeth. "Elena."

Elena didn't like being ordered around by Damon, but she didn't want to make a scene in case he needed to discuss about Whitmore's case. She also noticed April was checking him out, and strangely an odd pang of possessiveness gripped her insides. "Fine. Let's go."

He took her by the arm and led her through the hallway into the corridor.

Elena folded her arms over her chest. "Do you want to tell me what this is about?"

Damon took out the photographs from the file. "I want to show you these photographs. Take your time, and look at each one carefully. Maybe it was somebody you saw in an elevator. Or someone you passed in the lobby or in the hallway. If we could put any of these guys at the hotel on the night of the murder, that would be a huge break in the case."

"I take it all of these people deny being at the Peninsula on the night in question?"

"At the time of the murder, yes." Damon pointed to two of the photographs. "These two men are members of Whitmore's staff: Tanner Driscoll, his chief of staff, and Trevor Lombard, his bodyguard. They both say they went to the hotel early the following morning. According to their statements, Whitmore called them after I finished interrogating him."

Elena focused first on Driscoll and Lombard's photographs, then went through each of the others, one at a time. When finished, she gave them back to Damon. "I'm sorry. No one looks familiar to me."

"In the past week, have you remembered anything else about the man you saw that night?"

Elena thought for a moment—there did seem to be something there, something right at the edge of her memory…but whatever it was, it remained just out of grasp. "I can't think of anything else. It all happened so fast."

Damon ran his hand through his hair and briefly closed his eyes. The gesture suddenly made him seem so…normal.

"You look tired," she said.

He opened his eyes, his expression softer than usual. "Just a long couple of days. I don't want to keep you from your party."

She hesitated, trying to resist the impulse that had just struck her. She failed.

"Damon…"

"Yes?"

This was stupid, she thought. But somehow she didn't want him to leave now.

"Do you want to dance?" she asked before she could give herself any more time to think.

Damon looked startled. "Dance?"

"Well?" she prompted, her voice barely audible over the music.

 _Man, how did she have such a sexy voice?_ Damon studied her, waiting for flashes from the strobe to illuminate her face so he could get a better look. Each time a streak of light lit up her face, Damon liked what he saw. She had one of those faces you saw in makeup ads—smooth skin, brown doe eyes, and naturally red lips that were lush and sensual and ridiculously kissable. He lowered his gaze and liked what he saw there too. Dressed in a V neck, sleeveless white crochet dress, Elena Gilbert was a breathtakingly beautiful image of breeding and serenity

"Dance?" she repeated.

Right, the dance. Damon quickly moved his gaze away from her body. "Yeah, sure," he muttered.

She smiled back at him. "Let's do it then."

Elena walked ahead of him, and Damon took the opportunity to admire the way her white crochet dress hugged her figure. Jesus, there was something about her white crochet dress that made his blood heat up.

 _Get a grip,_ Damon reminded himself. _You are a FBI agent. You should be in control._

He tore his eyes away from her body and followed her down the open spiral staircase leading to the main floor. When she reached the bottom step, she cocked her head as if to check if he was still there, and when their gazes connected, he saw a sensual smile tug on her mouth. Damn, those lips belonged in an X-rated video. Preferably one that featured him and the lips in question wrapped around his dick.

Amusement danced in her brown eyes. "You are staring."

Damon looked away. Elena was certain saw his cheeks redden a little. It could have been the shadows making him look flushed but she preferred it was her that had done it.

"You are blushing." She studied him. "Are you embarrassed because I caught you staring?"

He threw her a dark look that reminded her why Damon Salvatore was not a man to be trifled with.

"I'm not blushing," he scowled.

She smiled again, but the look on her face said she didn't quite believe him. "Whatever."

"Men don't blush." He curled his fingers over her arm and led her towards the packed dance floor. The music was a lot louder down here, so he dipped his head to her ear and added, "And I'm not embarrassed."

She laughed, the sound quickly swallowed by the reggae song that pounded out of the speakers. "Just shut up and dance."

Damon didn't know why he grinned but he did. He pulled her into the throng of people. She immediately pressed her body to his and started to move. Those curvy breasts teased his chest, sending sparks of heat to his body every time her breasts pushed against him. She smelled like flowers and honey, the aroma filling his nostrils, subtle and yet far more potent than the scent of sweat, perfume and aftershave mingling in the hot air of the club.

Elena looked at him, an enticing smile playing on her lips. "You are good at this." She punctuated the words by rubbing her lower body against his pelvis.

He felt himself harden. Never missing a beat, he spun her around then pressed his erection against her ass, running his hands up and down her bare arms. He lowered his head to her ear again. "I have got moves you never know."

"This is fun," she said, her voice husky with sudden emotion. She pushed her butt out and rubbed it over his erection before spinning back around and wrapping her arms around his neck. Their gazes locked, and the hint of sex sizzled in the air between them.

She obviously shared the same sentiment, because the next thing he knew she was kissing him.

Her hot mouth latched onto his, her eager little tongue darting out and filling his mouth.

Elena didn't care that they were in the middle of a crowded dance floor, didn't care that this was her best friend's bachelorette's party or her friends and cousins were probably getting a kick out of watching her from the second-floor railing. All she cared about was devouring every inch of Damon's mouth. And devour she did.

Damon thrust one hand into her long, silky hair and angled her head for better access, shoving his tongue deep in her mouth. She tasted like chocolate. His erection pulsed as she flicked her tongue over his, over and over again, and then she nibbled on his bottom lip and his cock damn well near exploded. Jesus. He was harder than a slab of marble, and in serious danger of coming in his pants from one—albeit very erotic—kiss.

"Let's get out of here," he muttered against her lips.

"No, I want you now." She kissed him again, long and hard, moving one hand down his chest and palming the bulge in his jeans.

He almost keeled over backwards. A groan rose in his throat and it took all his willpower to move her hand away. "We are on the dance floor, sweetheart," he pointed out.

She shot him a wicked smile. "So?"

Christ, this woman was going to kill him. He had never been more turned on in his entire thirty-five years, and he suddenly realised something – he wanted Elena. And Elena wanted him too.

"Come here," he ordered gruffly, grabbing her hand and leading her out of the mob of dancers.

He had no clue where he was taking her. He just walked as fast as he could. He shoved random people out of his way, not bothering with excuse me, just pushing forward. In the darkness, he caught sight of a corridor leading towards the VIP rooms. The first door was shut but the second was not.

Once they were inside the room, Damon barely noticed his surroundings. He locked the door behind them, promptly shoved Elena against the wall, and kissed her again. cupped his face with her hands and slowed the kiss. Setting the pace, she teased him, biting gently at his bottom lip and sliding her tongue lightly along his. She did it again, playing with him, taking charge.

He growled low in his throat, then grabbed her hands and pinned them against the door.

Too late she recalled that Damon Salvatore was not a man to be trifled with.

He wound his tongue around hers in a kiss that was rich and drugging. He settled between her thighs, and Elena felt his hard, thick erection pressing into her. He could hide nearly every emotion behind that wall of his, but his body betrayed him right then, telling her the only thing she needed to know.

He wanted her.

Heady with that knowledge, Elena closed her eyes as Damon blazed a trail with his mouth along her throat. The scruff of his jaw scratched against her neck, an erotic sensation that set every nerve of her body on fire.

"Damon," she whispered.

"You drive me crazy," he said in her ear.

This was a new side of Damon. Gone was the guarded, controlled exterior. For once, she was seeing…him.

Elena strained against him, helpless with her hands pinned in his. "Let me touch you." She needed to see—feel—more of him.

He pulled back and let his eyes roam over her, soaking in every inch. He let go of her hands and watched as she pushed his blazer off. She slid her hands past his shoulder harness, feeling the taut muscles of his chest. She found it intoxicating, having such power and strength literally beneath her fingertips.

He too her mouth, kissing her senseless. Her lips trembled beneath his, her fingers curled around his neck.

Then a ringing sound startled them. Both she and Damon jumped.

It was Damon's phone ringing from the blazer Elena had thrown onto the floor. She peered up at him. Something passed between them…then slipped away.

They unwound and separated. Damon grabbed his blazer off the ground to answer his phone. He grabbed the phone out of his pocket, saw it was Alaric, and answered, "Where are you?"

"I'm heading back to the car. Where are you? Did you find her?"

He glanced at Elena as she smoothed out the front of her dress. "Yeah. I will see you soon."

"We should get out of here." Elena reached up to run her shaky hands through her hair. "Caroline must be looking for me."

"So…" he began then trailed off, unsure of what to say.

"Let's go."

Damon seemed to hesitate at first. Then he switched over to all-business mode and opened the door. She passed by him to step out into the hallway and for a fleeting second their eyes met—the only recognition of what had happened between them.

Caroline and April were in the shadowy hallway. They both looked confused at first, then amused.

Elena tried to play it casual as she walked over. "Agent Salvatore wants to discuss about a case. Now we are done. We should carry on with our party."

Caroline waited until Damon had left the club. "He couldn't keep his eyes off you."

Elena rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous."

April grinned. "I saw the way you looked at him just now, Elena. So that's why you wanted to dance with him tonight."

Caroline smiled wryly. "Is that the reason you are not going to the wedding with Liam?"

So much for hoping they hadn't seen anything.


	10. Chapter 10

Damon hadn't been able to concentrate the whole day. He had started typing up the reports for the week several times and gotten no further than filling out the first one. He kept seeing Elena in the white crochet dress.

But he hadn't seen her since the bachelorette party.

Which was just fine with him. Really. Over the last five days he'd had time to sort through his emotions.

 _Liar._

He was not fine.

When he left the club that night, he couldn't stop asking himself what the hell just happened. He had kissed Elena and she had kissed her back.

What should he do now?

He could pretend nothing had happened and get on with life – which sounded like the best way to deal with this "complicated" matter.

But did he want to pretend nothing had happened?

Ever since that night at the Hot Zone, he had been wondering if maybe it was time for him to settle down. And he had Elena Gilbert to thank for that, of course. She had left him in that closet, harder than ever, and wondering if he had dreamed it all—something he still wasn't entirely sure of. At first he had been upset to see how she had acted as if nothing had happened between them when her friends saw them coming out of the VIP room, but after a while he had grown angry. At himself.

 _I want you now._

 _Let me touch you._

Given their history, that it would be foolish of him to think that Saturday night was about anything other than a mere physical attraction on Elena's part. She didn't even like him. Oh well. He was foolish to think she could actually have been interested in him. He shouldn't care, should he? It was no big deal.

But…

Darn it, he had liked the way he had felt that night with her. He had liked being with Elena. He felt a little flushed every time he thought back to that night. It was a pretty fun time.

Fun? Talk about the understatement of the year. Before he could stop it, memories of that night rushed back to her. It felt so right to have her in his arms. He wanted her and he knew Elena wanted him almost as much when she pressed her body against his. He was not a knight in shining armour, and he was a long way from being a naive, idealistic teenager. He knew what was happening between them at that moment. He wanted to take her to bed and undress her and make love to her as thoroughly and leisurely as he could.

Now he couldn't get her out of his mind. Her fragrance, her lips, her skin, her hair…he missed all of them.

 _What the hell are you thinking?_

And there lay the crux of the entire situation. He hadn't been thinking, not with his head anyway. If he had, he wouldn't have kissed her. Problem was, when he got that close to Elena, his brain shut down, and his body took over his thinking process.

He knew he was screwed. Damon Salvatore was so completely screwed…and definitely not in a good way.

What had happened with Elena at the club had left him feeling unsettled. Off his game. He didn't often let his guard down around people. That made a man…vulnerable.

Somehow, she had gotten behind his defences. And now, every instinct told him to stay as far away from her as possible, to harden himself against her even more than he had in the past. He would ride out the remainder of the Mandy Robert investigation, and then walk away without a second glance.

Except for one thing.

 _You saw what you wanted to see._

That slip-up of hers had been in the back of his mind, nagging him, ever since she had first said it. Who knew what she meant by that? But if there was some other explanation for her being in Maxfield's office that morning—the day he had been transferred by the DOJ—he wanted to know about it.

He needed to know.

x x x

His hands moved expertly over her hot flesh, bring it to life, bringing her to life in a way that made her squirm beneath him. What was he waiting for? Why didn't he give her what she wanted, what she ached for?

"Please," she pleaded, her nails digging into his shoulders.

"Not yet," he growled against her swollen breast. "I want to touch you."

He circled the aching tip of her breast with his tongue, sending wave after wave of intense longing through her. The teasing was excruciating. Her body throbbed with need.

She couldn't stand any more of this torture. She had to say it. She had to – or die from the gnawing need inside her.

"Take me," she said huskily. "Take me now."

He moved his finger along her folds, up and down, the gentle, teasing caress nearly causing her to come immediately. "Tell me what you like," he said roughly.

"I like everything you are doing so far."

Sliding over her clit, he rubbed the swollen nub for a few moments before moving lower and toying with her wet opening with the tip of his finger. "And this?" he prompted.

"Also good," she choked out.

Before she could blink, that talented finger pushed into her, deep inside, drawing a moan from her throat.

"So," he said thoughtfully. He moved his finger, in and out, a slow torturous rhythm that had her squirming. "How close are you?"

"Um, really close."

"Yeah? So if I put my tongue here…" she gasped as he lightly flicked his tongue over her clit, "…you will explode?"

"Any second," she said hoarsely.

He laughed again, and she felt a flicker of annoyance at his amusement over his situation. Didn't he realize she wasn't kidding? Little flutters of orgasm were already floating through her body, waiting to crash to the surface, her clit ached so badly it hurt, and he was laughing at her.

She opened her mouth. "It is really not fun—"

He withdrew his finger and replaced it with his tongue.

She closed her mouth.

Pleasure swarmed her body like a herd of excited butterflies. His tongue lapped her up, long sensual strokes that stoked the fire building in her belly and made her toes curl and—there was no doubt, she was going to come.

She bit her lip, closed her eyes, and desperately tried to tamp down the rising orgasm. But his mouth felt so good and…oh yes! The orgasm ripped through her like a tornado, stealing the breath right out of her lungs while shards of vivid colours and bright light distorted her vision. She gave a desperate moan, pressed her hands to his head and brought him closer, milking all the pleasure she could, drowning in it, consumed by it.

When the agonizing ecstasy finally abated, she opened her eyes to find a pair of blue-grey eyes grinning at her.

Damon.

"No!' she cried. "No!"

Elena bolted upright and looked at the empty bed beside her. Slowly the haze of sleep receded, and she realised it had all been a dream. The fabric of her nightgown stuck to her sweat-slicked body. Her hair hung in tangles around her tear-dampened face. The night air sent chills over her, despite the fact that her body was so hot, she couldn't almost smell the smoke coming from it.

Pushing her hair from her eyes, she buried her hot face in her hands. "Elena Gilbert, you are committing emotional suicide, and it has to stop. Now!"

Elena didn't make a habit of talking to herself, but mental admonitions didn't seem to be working anymore. If she didn't get a handle on this crazy obsession with Damon Salvatore, she would go insane.

She wouldn't deny the fact that she was physically attracted to Damon. It was a big step for her to admit even that much out loud. Who wouldn't? He was good-looking.

But what happened that night was completely insane.

 _Get a grip, girl,_ she told herself. He didn't even like her.

Elena rolled over in bed and glanced at the bedside clock's illuminated 00:30 a.m. She needed a drink. A cup of hot tea would make her feel better. It would make her free of the disturbing, erotic dreams of Damon Salvatore, dreams that had become all too common for the past five days.

She threw back the damp sheets, slid from the bed, grabbed her robe and then headed to the kitchen to put on a pot of tea. As she passed through the hall and into the living room, she rubbed at her throbbing temples. She hadn't been sleeping well since the bachelorette party.

She had taken two steps into the living room when she detected an odour. Smoke. A remnant of her all-too-vivid dream? But she was wide-awake now. She sniffed the air again.

Smoke. Something was burning.

Instantly alert, headache forgotten, she ran through the house searching for the source. It didn't take long to find it. Just a few feet from the front door, thick grey curls of smoke poured from under an armchair and had begun to accumulate in a misty layer along the ceiling.

Then whoosh!

Flames exploded and caught the drapes near the armchair and another loud whoosh sounded as the entire wall erupted in flames. In seconds, it was a growing inferno.

Elena felt as though her legs were stuck in quick-sand. She didn't know what to do. She never sensed the presence of the other person in the room until a man's hand grabbed her by her shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

It was Damon.

She blinked. "Damon?"

"No time for chit chat," Damon yelled above the roar of the growing fire. "We need to get out of here, or we will be toasted."

Elena heard him, but couldn't make her body move.

Then realisation of what had just happened and its possible outcome hit her between the eyes.

 _I could have died. My home has been burned to the ground._

"Elena!" Damon nudged her. "Do you hear me? We have to get out of here."

Rousing from her stupor, Elena craned her head to see over her shoulder. "Yes, I hear you, but how are we going to get out?" She inhaled a mouthful of smoke. It burned its way down her throat and triggered an intense coughing spasm.

He grabbed her. "Come on," he said, "Let's go. The front door…"

But when they looked around, they were surrounded by flames leaping towards the ceiling. There was no way out.

He covered his mouth with the tail of his shirt. She followed suit, pulled off her robe and used it to cover her mouth and nose. Damon dragged her close against his side. "Cough…do you trust me?"

She nodded. "Yes."

Outside she could hear the shouts of a lot of men. The fire brigade had arrived. Her heart gave a leap of hope, but it quickly vanished when reality nosed its way into her thoughts. They were out there, and she and Damon were trapped in here. If they waited for the firemen to get to them, it would be too late. She and Damon had no one to rely on but themselves.

The black, acrid smoke had thickened in the few seconds they had been standing there making a decision. There was no time to think. They had to act – and act fast – if they wanted to live. Fear that had been lingering quietly in her subconscious began creeping into her mind, bring with it images of her and Damon dead on the floor, their bodies burned beyond recognition. She shook free of her morbid musings, knowing she had no time to be afraid. She looked at Damon and gathered strength from him.

"I trust you."

Damon saw trust in Elena's gaze. It gave him the strength to do what he had to, to get them out the only way left to them.

Pulling her close, he leaned down to yell into her ear. "When I say go, run. We are going…cough…through that window." He pointed at the window behind a wall of leaping fire. "Keep your robe over your head…cough…Make sure your hair is tucked…cough…inside the robe."

Elena nodded, then hoisted her robe high up over her head and enveloped her face and hair with it. Damon did the same by pulling his shirt high up.

"Hang on to me." Her arms snaked around his neck and then he felt her lock fingers together behind his nape. He encircled her with his arms and pulled her face into his chest. "Here we go."

Saying a quick prayer that he wouldn't kill both of them, Damon closed his eyes and raised his shoulder to absorb most of the impact. Holding Elena as tight as he could, he rushed the window. Momentarily, the heat became unbearable, and he felt it searing the bare flesh on his hands. He bit his lip against the pain, then closed his eyes tighter to block it out.

They hit the window.

Glass shattered.

Cool, clean air rushed at them.

As they plunged forward over the windowsill, Damon twisted his body to cushion Elena's fall. They hit the ground. Pain ripped through his side. Then he felt cool, damp grass under his hot cheek.

x x x

Elena stepped from the ambulance and searched for Damon in the crowd of people standing around. After the firemen had scooped them off the lawn and hustled them away from the burning house and into the waiting ambulance to be checked out, things had become a blur for Elena. She knew that at some point the CPD had taken Damon off to talk to him and a female officer had climbed into the ambulance beside her.

The roaring sound of the crackling fire caught her attention. She turned towards the house, her house. Frankly speaking, it wasn't her house. She had rented it for the past three years.

Flames leaped towards the darkened sky. Sparks flew heavenward, kissing the palm fronds on the tree at the corner of the house as they rose and eventually burned out. Three firemen anchored a hose while they directed a heavy stream of silver water on the burning structure.

Elena's heart clenched. Her beloved house had become nothing more than a pile of burning rubble. She didn't think her landlord would be very pleased. Tears filled her eyes. She blinked them back. It was just a house, she told herself. Just brick and mortar, wood and paint.

It was just a house. The important thing was she was still alive.

But it wasn't just a house. To lose her house would be like losing herself and everything she had worked for since her father died. This house wasn't just a brick-and-mortar structure. It was home, the very foundation of her independence, her symbol of security and stability. Aftershock set it.

Her hands began to shake. Her heart pounded in her ears. Sweat beaded her forehead and coated the palms of her trembling hands. Her empty stomach churned with sour fear.

"Are you okay?" the officer beside her asked.

Elena nodded. If Damon hadn't appeared, she would be dead. Dragging her gaze from the mesmerizing flames, she resumed her search for him. "Do you see Agent Salvatore anywhere?"

The female officer scanned the faces in the crowd. "Over three." She pointed towards a small group of men who had just separated, leaving Damon and Alaric standing alone.

Eager to make sure he was okay, Elena hurried towards him. As she drew close, their conversation reached her ears.

"The arsonist knew that Elena wouldn't be able to put out the fire. He had probably counted on her sleeping through the preliminary stages and waking when the fire had already taken hold and when it was out of control," Alaric said.

Damon stiffened. "How did he get inside the house? I thought there are two officers outside watching her."

"They were drugged," Alaric explained. "It looks like the arsonist has been watching her."

Elena blinked. She didn't understand. Why would anyone want to burn down her house and possibly her with it? Who wanted to kill her?

Damon paused for a moment, then stopped. "I think this has something to do with Mandy Robert's murder."

She stopped dead. Then it hit her. The man she saw in the hotel that night Mandy Robert was murdered. He was in her house tonight. And he had wanted to kill her. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead. Her hands began to tremble uncontrollably. Her stomach heaved, and her knees began to cave.

Strong arms enveloped her to stop her from falling over. When she looked up, she saw Damon's concerned face looking down at her. "You okay?"

"I'm…not…sure," she said, her voice shaky, her face a ghostly white. "It is not every day…you get to see…your house…went up in flames, is it?" She tried to smile, but the corners of her mouth trembled and ruined the effect.

Damon took her shaking hand firmly in his. He wanted so much to take her in his arms and make sure she was safe, but in his gut he knew that would be a temporary safety. No one had to tell him that this cold-blooded killer would try again and again – and wouldn't stop until he was caught or Elena was dead.

Just thinking about such a thing made Damon wince with pain, as if someone had reached into his chest and pulled out his heart. He had to find this person and stopped him from hurting Elena.

"Alaric, get the patrol car to check out the area. If he has been watching Elena, someone must have noticed," Damon said. "Send another one to check the area around Elena's office."

Alaric punched in some numbers. "Sure, I will get on to it."

Damon's arm slipped around her shoulders. "We will find him, Elena, and just maybe it will bring an end to this nightmare." He hugged her close, and she took comfort in his embrace. "In the meantime, I don't think you should be alone. I will talk to Wes tomorrow and the FBI will take over your protective surveillance."

She exhaled deeply. "I will call Caroline to let her know I will be staying with her for a while."

"No, you can't."

"Why?"

"You will be too vulnerable if you stay with Caroline. I don't want to risk another fire."

Elena swallowed hard and braced herself. _Show no weakness._ She was supposed to be tough and she could handle this.

"So, what now?"

"Now we will find a place where you can rest for a few hours and tomorrow we will talk to Wes."

She eyed him with caution. "Where are we going?"

"A place where you will be safe," he said, surprisingly gentle.


	11. Chapter 11

Damon chose one of the big, anonymous hotels a few blocks away in the downtown core, and requested and got a room with no connecting doors. In the close confines of the elevator, he was intensely aware that the fear had remained in Elena's eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I will be fine," Elena said. "Just a little jittery. You know how it is. Post-trauma stress." She gave him a fleeing smile. "I'm glad the hotel provided a few basics. I didn't have time to pack when the fire started."

He looked at the small packet she clutched. The front desk clerk had given it to her. It contained a tiny toothbrush, toothpaste and a few other overnight essentials.

The elevator doors opened. He followed Elena out into the hallway. He had to stay focused on getting her securely buttoned up for the night. She was exhausted. She had to rest.

He concentrated on securing the room, but there was no getting around the fact that a part of him was consumed by the prowling tension that he was alone with her tonight in the same room. _You are a FBI agent,_ he thought. _You can handle it._

He forced himself to go through the drill. He noted the location of the emergency exits and came up with two possible escape routes. Inside the room, he secured the door and did a quick survey. No connecting doors, as promised. The sealed windows looked out over the city below.

When he was satisfied that he had taken all possible precautions, he turned around and looked at Elena. She stood, contemplating the bed, arms folded. Something about her obvious uncertainty irritated him.

"What?" he asked.

She cleared her throat. "Nothing. I, uh, thought there would be two beds, that's all."

For some reason, the knowledge that she did not want to share the bed with him hit him hard. And then he got mad; not at Elena, at himself. It was foolish of him to think that Elena was ever attracted to him.

"Sorry." He knew he sounded brusque, but that was a hell of a lot better than begging her to sleep with him. "This was all that was available in a room that had no connecting door. No problem. I will take the chair or the floor."

"No, you certainly will not." Her brows scrunched together in a severe look. "You are hurt."

Damon looked down at his bandaged wrists. "Don't worry. Those injuries won't kill me."

"Right."

There was a brief silence.

"I think you need to forget about what had happened for tonight, take a long hot bath, and then get a few hours of sleep."

"But…"

"But what?"

Damon looked at her. She had the hotel vanity kit in hand. Her night gown was dirty.

It dawned on him that she did not have anything to change to.

"I think I have got a spare T-shirt," he said as he reached for his tote. "I planned to go the gym after work but got tied up by some paperwork."

"Thank you." She looked relieved. "I will take it."

He took a clean black T–shirt out of the duffel without a word and handed it to her. She slipped past him and disappeared into the small room. The door closed firmly. He heard water running in the sink. It ran for a very long time. He realized she was probably doing a little hand laundry. In the morning, he would probably find a pair of panties hanging on the towel rack. The vision heated his blood a little more.

He considered his options and went for the padded reading chair in the corner near the window. The sight of the ottoman cheered him in some macabre way.

He opened the minibar and took out a bottle of chilled mineral water. He yanked a pillow off the bed, turned off all the lights except the one by the bed and dropped into the chair. He propped his feet on the ottoman, twisted the top off one of the water bottles and swallowed some of the water.

Try as he might, he could not remove the images of Elena being carried out of that fire, of the stark terror of thinking she was dead. He had never felt such utter and complete sorrow and loss in his life, as if his reasons for living had suddenly been snatched away.

It was a narrow escape, he thought. If he hadn't turn up to her house, she would be burn alive. And he would have lost her forever.

The door opened quietly a few minutes later. Elena emerged wearing his T–shirt. It was much too big for her. The hem fell to her thighs. She looked sexy as hell in the shadows. An elemental thrill of possessiveness swept through him. He drank some more of the water.

"Are you drinking something?" she asked.

"Yeah. Help yourself. There are a couple of bottles of water and juices in that bar."

She chose a bottle of water, untwisted the cap and sat down on the edge of the bed.

They drank in silence for a while. He saw no reason to try to engage in conversation. It would only make things more complicated.

"What are you thinking?" Elena asked.

"About what happened tonight."

"You are sure it is linked to Mandy Robert's murder?"

He nodded. "He has planned it. The officers were drugged. He got inside your house and started the fire."

"Do you think the arsonist is the killer?"

"I'm fairly certain the person who burned down your house is the killer." He sat forward looking directly at her. "Now—we need to start thinking about what happened today. How the hell did Mandy Robert's killer find out about you? On the FBI side of things, there are the three of us – Alaric, Wes, and me, and the director, who are aware of your involvement in the investigation. Today's attack tells us one thing: we have got a leak. But we might be able to use that to our advantage. Once we find the leak, we can use him to get to the killer."

"Do you think one of the cops have leaked information?"

"It is possible, that's why we need to look into this. But there were quite a number of women at the bachelorette party on Saturday who saw you with me. Any one of them could have spread that information to the wrong person."

"I can get you their names, but I doubt any of those girls are the leak," Elena said. "None of them had any clue why the cops were watching me."

"What about your friends and family? Have you told them anything?"

"Caroline and Matt know a little, but nothing specific. And they know to keep quiet. I haven't talked to anyone else about it."

There was another brief silence.

"As long as we are listing everyone who is aware of my involvement in the Robert's investigation, I should mention that Nathan Silas knows. He found out through the FBI director," Elena said after a while. "Apparently, he called Nathan last week to thank me for my cooperation in the investigation."

Damon paused at the mention of Silas's name. "Do you think it is possible Silas told someone about your involvement in the case?"

"As the U.S. attorney, he certainly should know better," Elena said.

"I would hope so," Damon agreed. Then he saw her watching him with a sudden serious expression.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I have something to tell you," she said. "About what happened three years ago…I'm not the one who had you transferred to Nebraska."

Damon ran his hand through his hair as this sank in. "Tell me the truth."

Elena began first with the Lockwood case, thinking she might as well start at the beginning. She told him about Silas's decision not to prosecute, and his directive that she not speak to the FBI, or anyone, about his decision.

"I was new to the office back then—I didn't want to rock the boat," she said. "Things would be a lot different if he and I had that conversation now."

Then she told him everything else: Silas's attempts to get him fired, her contact at the DOJ, her meeting with Wes to fill him in on the situation.

"Your transfer to Nebraska wasn't a great result, I realize, but it was better than being dismissed from service entirely," she said. "It was the best I could do under the circumstances."

When she had finished, Damon said nothing. A moment passed and…

He still said nothing.

Then he walked toward her and put his hands around her shoulders. Beneath the fabric of the black T–shirt, she felt sleek and warm and soft and like all that was feminine. Her scent clouded his senses, intoxicating and compelling. He tightened his grip on her and drew her to him. She did not resist.

Her lips were slightly parted. His arms snaked around her, pulling her so hard against him that she could feel his T-shirt branding her skin as surely as his mouth branded her.

Why had she fought so hard against it, when she had wanted it so desperately?

He wrenched his mouth free from Elena's after a while and kissed her throat. Her hands moved down from his neck and slipped up under his T–shirt.

"You should have told me three years ago, before I left," he said. "You know what? You certainly know how to drive me crazy, Elena Gilbert."

She giggled. "No kidding?"

"You are laughing at me, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with a feminine heat that ignited a wildfire within him. It was all he could do to hold on to his control.

Damon pushed her backward onto the bed. The weight of his body pushed her deep into the soft mattress. He drew back and stared down at her.

"You have no idea how much I want to kiss you," he said. Then he leaned forward and brushed his lips across her neck. "Your skin is like warm silk," he murmured.

Her nails dug into his shoulders, urging him on, telling him that she needed him to touch her. Instead, it seemed to rouse him from his sexual stupor. He pulled back.

"This is not a good idea," he told her.

Elena blinked and sat up. His expression was as serious as death. Her first impulsion was to hide, to take the humiliation of his rejection and run. Then she looked closer at him and saw the dark desire in his eyes.

"Aren't you as tired as I am of fighting this attraction between us?" she asked in a low, husky voice that sounded nothing like hers.

Damon stared at Elena, trying to decide if admitting to what she suggested would be a good idea. If he said no, it would be a lie, and he would be denying them both a night to be tucked away in their memories forever. If he said yes, he might well be opening a door for both of them that should remain closed. This wasn't the first time he had faced a damned-if-you-do-and damned-if-you-don't situation. He had always thought he was in control but he wasn't. Definitely not at the moment.

His heart won out. "I'm very tired of fighting the attraction."

She grinned, and his heart leaped into his chest and pounded out a hard rhythm.

"Then I suggest we do something about it."

Tension seeped from his body, to be replaced by a free yearning that took charge of both his mind and his heart. He laughed out loud as she pushed his shirt upward. He yanked the garment off over his head and tossed it aside. She kissed his shoulder, her mouth warm and damp on his skin. He took a step back and got rid of his pants and briefs. When he turned to her, she was smiling at him.

"You are right," he said. "We have to do something about it."

He tugged off the T–shirt she wore, and fell with her onto the bed. He rolled onto his back, dragging her down across his chest. She made love to him there in the darkness, raining spicy wet kisses from his throat to his belly, and then she ventured lower. He groaned when her fingers closed around him. When she took him into her mouth, he sucked in a sharp breath and sank his hands into the thick, tangled curls of her hair.

She used her tongue on him, and he thought he would go mad. When she pressed gently against the ultra-sensitive place directly behind his testicles, he knew he had reached his limit.

"My turn," he breathed.

He eased her onto her back and came down on top of her. She was as damp as he was, slick with perspiration. He kissed her firm, dainty breasts until she was arching against him and clutching at him. Satisfied, he worked his way slowly down her body, savouring the taste and scent of her.

When he reached the tight little furnace between her legs, she cried out and dug her nails into his shoulders. He sensed the gathering tension in her and stoked the fires until she was fierce and breathless. He gripped her sweet ass in both hands and anchored her so that she could not escape his mouth.

She came undone in a storm of energy that dazzled all of his senses.

"Damon…"

"Right here, sweetheart," he breathed.

"Take me now," she pleaded.

He shifted position, holding his weight on his elbows.

"Damn," he cursed.

She blinked. "What's wrong?"

"I…I don't have protection."

She smiled. "I'm on the pills. It is okay."

He captured her face between his hands and plunged his tongue into her mouth at the same time that he thrust deep into her still-clenching passage. The convulsions of her release pulled him over the edge within seconds.

He gave himself up to the rushing freedom of the climax with a hoarse, muffled groan of satisfaction that seemed to echo forever.

"Are you back?" he whispered a short while later.

Her eyes opened partially. "Hmm."

"You sure?"

Her eyes came fully open. "Yes. I'm back."

He gave her a wicked grin. "Have fun?"

She blushed.

"Have fun?"

"Yes," she gasped.

"I'm glad." He rubbed his lips across her cheekbone.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"The pleasure was mine."

"Really?"

All teasing aside, he angled his head back and looked into her beautiful eyes. "Really."

They stared at each other for a meaningful moment.

He smiled. "That feels amazing."

"To me, too."

She touched his cheek. "I could never forget this."

"Me either."

There was a brief silence.

"Hey, you? Are you asleep?" Damon asked softly.

Elena snuggled against him and sighed with contentment. "No. Just thinking."

He had gathered a strand of her hair and was sweeping the ends of it across her nipple. "The way your hair brushes against them? Sexiest thing I ever saw. Drives me crazy."

"That is driving me crazy," she said as he continued the idle whisking.

"Good crazy?"

"Wonderful crazy."

He tilted her head back and they kissed. When it finally ended, he asked, "What were you thinking about?"

"You never did tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"Why you were at my house tonight."

He didn't say anything for several beats. She turned onto her stomach and levered herself up on her elbows. "You aren't going to tell me?"

"I wanted to talk you," he said then winced as if he hated that he had just stated the obvious. "I wanted to talk about what happened at the club that night."

Her pulse sped up. "Why?"

"Because it scared the hell out of me," he said.

"What? I scared the hell out of you?"

"Not you. The kiss."

She smiled. "Oh, that."

"Yes. The kiss scared the hell out of me."

They shared a laugh, and then he hugged her to him tightly. "I knew I wasn't in control the moment we kissed. I was afraid."

"You were afraid?"

"Yes, I was afraid." He paused. "Because I knew I wanted more than just a kiss."

"What do you want, Damon?"

He looked at her. "I want you."

"I want you too." She leaned over and brushed her mouth against his. Then she pulled back. "But I'm scared that you would turn me down and kick me out."

"Not a chance."

He stroked her cheek with the back of his finger. She turned her head and kissed his palm. He wrapped one arm around her and drew her back down to him.


	12. Chapter 12

Trevor considered the chess pieces on the board. A mistake had been made. A lack of sufficient information in advance had made it difficult to devise appropriate tactics.

The opponent was proving to be unpredictable. But there was no reason that a well-planned strategy would not work.

The key was to stay focused.

He had to stay focus. He would never let Nancy down.

He considered the new positions the opponent had taken. The unpredictable element in the others strategy had become more evident. And more difficult to anticipate.

It was time to remove one of the pieces on the board.

Elena Gilbert would die.

If Damon Salvatore was trying to stop him, then Trevor would get rid of him as well.

Check mate!

x x x

Damon and Elena slept for several hours and woke to make love again as they showered together. He had asked for room service when she emerged from the bathroom, wearing only the bath robe supplied by the hotel, towel-drying her hair.

When he turned and saw her, an odd expression came over his face. "What?" she asked.

He shook his head slightly, and then gave her a wolfish grin. "I was just thinking how good it looks on you."

"The bath robe?"

"Debauchery."

She blushed to the roots of her hair.

"Damn, that gets to me every time."

"What?"

"Your blush."

"I don't blush."

"Bet you will."

"Will?"

He sat down in one of the chairs at the table, caught her hand, and pulled her into his lap. It was a while before they got around to having their late breakfast.

"In all my years with the FBI, there has only been one person I have ever had any problems controlling myself around." Damon winked at her. "You are a bad influence, Elena Gilbert."

She smiled at that, but said nothing.

"By the way, there is something else I wanted to talk to you about," Damon said. "You mentioned that Silas knows about your connection to the Robert case."

"The director of FBI contacted him about the case because I'm under the protection surveillance."

"I keep thinking about how Silas told you to back off the Lockwood case three years ago. It was one thing when I thought you, the prosecutor who had reviewed all the investigation files, made the decision that there wasn't enough evidence to try the case. But now that I know Silas pressured you into not filing charges, the whole thing leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I don't trust him."

Elena thought about this. Damon could see she was running through the possibilities in her head.

"We need to be very careful here," she said. "Nathan Silas is the U.S. attorney. We can't start making accusations against him merely because of bad feelings. You know better than anyone how vindictive he can be."

"It is just something I want you to think about. You need to be careful around him."

"What's your plan now?"

"We will meet Wes in his office midday. I have already informed him about last night. He has assured me that the FBI will take over your protective surveillance from now on."

Elena's phone chimed. She reached into her purse, grabbed the device and glanced at the caller ID.

"It's Matt," she said. Her tone was suddenly a few degrees brighter. She took the call. "Hey, Matt."

Damon heard the easy familiarity and affection in her voice and felt a tug of simple, primal jealousy. Knowing Matt only treated her as sister did nothing to assuage the response. Elena was closely bonded with her friends. She'd had years to forge the connections among herself and Matt and Caroline. He, on the other hand, was a newcomer in her life, and as far as she was concerned, their relationship was not easy to define given their history.

"When I heard about the fire, I nearly lost it," Matt said. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," Elena reassured him. "I had a few grazes here and there but nothing serious."

"Where are you now?" Matt asked. "Caroline is worried about you."

She glanced at Damon. "Tell Caroline I'm fine. I will give her a call later."

"I heard your Agent Hottie saved you from being burned alive."

"Are you with Damon Salvatore at the moment?"

"Uh–huh," Elena said.

She was aware of Damon watching her. He lounged against the chair, sipping coffee and listening to every word.

"Did you spend the night with him?"

"Uh-huh."

"Uh-huh what?" Matt asked curiously. "What's with you and Salvatore?"

"I…I'm afraid I'm a little busy at the moment. I will talk to you later, Matt."

She ended the connection and saw Damon slanted her a quick, questioning look. "What?"

"What is uh-huh?"

She shrugged. "Nothing." She immediately switched subjects. "I need to ask Caroline to bring me some clothes. I can't wear a bath robe to meet Wes."

"Alaric is on his way here. I have asked him to get you some clothes on the way." Damon checked his watch. "He should be here any moment."

The doorbell chimed. Damon set down his cup and slipped off his chair. "That will be Alaric."

A moment later, she heard the door opened and Alaric strode in with a plastic bag in his hand. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, but she thought she could guess. He would have to have been dim in the extreme not to figure out what had happened here. Alaric was definitely not dim.

"Damon asked me to get you some clothes," Alaric said. "I don't know if they will fit." He extended her the plastic bag. "Don't expect too much."

Curious, she peered into one of the bags. "Thank you. I will go change into something now."

After Elena scampered back into the bathroom, Alaric gave Damon an ingenuous smile. "Obviously you didn't screw things up with her last night."

"It is none of your business."

Alaric grinned. "The two of you spent the night together in the same room…"

Damon glared at his partner. "If I hear any gossips about last night, I will personally feed you to a shredder, Alaric."

"Hey, I'm a FBI agent." Alaric put up his hands, palms out. "I'm no gossip columnist."

"The hell you aren't."

x x x

"Miss Gilbert, if you would please join us in my office," Wes said.

Elena followed Damon and Alaric inside. She took a seat in front of Wes' desk and Damon sat next to her. Alaric sat on her other side. Wes folded his hands as he sat down. Like the other time she had been in his office, three years ago, he wore a serious expression.

"Miss Gilbert, as the special agent in charge of this office, I would like to give you my most sincere apologies. For what it is worth, I've put a call into the CPD superintendent. I plan to see that the officers who had been handling your surveillance this afternoon are disciplined appropriately. I'm furious about what happened. I promise you that it will not happen again."

"Thank you. Luckily Agent Salvatore was there. He deserves to be commended for his actions today. I can't imagine what might have happened if he hadn't shown up when he did," Elena said.

"Damon and I have spoken. I agree with him that the FBI needs to take over your protective surveillance. In light of what had happened last night, we are going to assign an agent who will be with you at all times. He will go everywhere you go. I have asked Damon, as the lead investigator in this case, to take on this assignment. He has agreed."

There was a brief silence.

"I'm afraid this is going to be a much more intrusive level of protective surveillance," Wes continued, "but unfortunately, we don't have much choice in the matter."

"Trust me—no one wants to make sure we don't have a repeat of last night's incident more than I do," Elena said. "In this case, I'm happy to be inconvenienced."

"With Damon handling the surveillance, we will need someone else to manage the day-to-day responsibilities of the investigation." Wes turned to Alaric. "Alaric, you will replace Damon in this capacity. I think you are ready for the responsibility."

Alaric paused for a second before addressing Wes. "Damon and I are partners, and I would like to stick with him on this assignment."

Wes chuckled. "Oh, don't worry—you are not getting rid of him that easily. You will still be partners, but with different responsibilities. Damon will remain with Miss Gilbert, and you will lead the team here in our office."

Alaric nodded. "That sounds like a good arrangement."

"We have got a problem," Damon interrupted. He looked at Wes with a small frown. "Elena can't go back to her house anymore. So, where exactly is she going to stay?"

"I can stay at Caroline's place," Elena said but she shook her head the moment the words came out. "No, she is getting married soon. I can't get her involved in this mess."

"We can put you up in a motel," Wes suggested.

"Matt has a spare room in his apartment…"

"No." Damon didn't like the idea of Elena living with Matt. "Not a good idea."

Elena raised her brows. "Why not? I have known Matt since college. He knows to keep quiet."

"No," Damon said coldly. "My job is to protect you. Only. I doubt Donovan can protect himself if the killer strikes again. I can't be distracted. Too risky."

She could hardly believe her ears. Damon was jealous. She didn't know whether to hit him, burst out laughing or hug him. "Then what do you suggest, Agent Salvatore?"

Damon looked at her. "I will take good care of you, Miss Gilbert."


	13. Chapter 13

"Are you sleeping with him already?"

Elena looked around the living room. "Maybe you could say that just a little louder, Caroline."

Thankfully Damon was in the kitchen, sparing her at least some embarrassment from her friend's comment. When Caroline had first arrived, Damon had conducted a check outside his condo and he had made a few phone calls to send a patrol out to make sure there was nothing suspicious in the neighbourhood.

"So," Caroline said as she sipped the steaming coffee from a large, orange, earthenware mug, "are you ready to talk about the life of living with your Agent Hottie?"

Elena glanced at her friend. "What is there to say? I'm under protection surveillance."

Caroline placed a mug onto the coffee table. "Well, there must be something. Like did he cook all the meals while you stay here? Did you two do normal, everyday things together, like watch television at night? Did he ever allow you to be left alone at all, like when he takes his shower? Or purely from a safety perspective, would it be better for you to join him in such undertakings…"

"Caroline!" Elena glared at her friend. "It is Damon's job to protect me."

Caroline grinned. "So, where exactly did he sleep at night?"

"Caroline!"

Caroline's grin widened. This time it held a trace of delight. "Matt told me you spent the night with him after the fire."

"Okay, so I went to bed with him."

"Bingo!"

Elena set her coffee mug down, and then glared at her grinning friend. "Dammit! It is not funny, Caroline."

"So you like him."

Elena thought of Damon's confidence and smiled. "Yeah, I like him."

"A lot?"

Elena was fairly certain that what she felt was much stronger than "like," but it was premature to admit it. "He saved my life."

"I know it! You have always had a thing for him." Caroline chuckled. "Go on. I want the details."

"There are a few things going on with us right now, you know," Elena said pointedly. "Like that slightly sticky issue with me being almost burned down together with my house."

Caroline immediately looked contrite. "You are right—I'm sorry. You have a lot more important things to worry about than my wedding."

Elena sighed. "I hope this nightmare will end soon."

She still couldn't believe she and Damon would be living together. In his place.

Things with Damon had gone a little complicated after that night in the hotel. He had behaving as if nothing had happened between them for the past few days since she had moved into his place. Maybe he needed time to recognize and accept the bond between them, she thought. She was happy to give him time but she couldn't deny the fact she was pissed by the fact that he had acted so normally.

The one word she could find to express her first impression of Damon's home was warm. Well, the place was warmer and far more welcoming than she had expected. Her first thought was that she had walked into a sun-baked Mediterranean villa. The spacious condo boasted a spectacular ocean view. The rustic-looking, rough-plastered walls were painted with the richly faded yellows, reds, and browns one associated with the stucco and stone of an Italian palazzo. Elena saw that the terra-cotta flooring extended throughout the suite.

A rug striped in dark, cloudy hues of green, blue, rust, and ochre framed a sitting area furnished with a low, wooden sofa. There were dull gold cushions on the sofa and the chairs across from it.

The wide coffee table was covered with colourful mosaic tiles. Large, painted pottery containers filled with leafy foliage were scattered about on the floor. There were more pots filled with flowering plants on the tiled window seat.

The effect was sultry, vibrant and compellingly sensual in a way Elena could not explain. Interior design had never ranked high on her list of interests.

Straightforward comfort and clean functionality were her chief requirements in her personal environments. But Damon's sunny little villa on the eleventh floor made her see new possibilities.

After Caroline had left, she went to the kitchen to look for Damon. He was piling several plastic sacks on the dining table.

"Hungry?" he asked. "Alaric bought us some fruits."

She approached the table and saw a plastic basket of strawberries and a cantaloupe. She picked up the berries and carried them to the sink. "These look delicious." She turned on the faucet and rinsed the berries.

"I'm going make a salad to go with the spinach lasagne I made just now." He opened the refrigerator. "I have got some romaine."

"Do you like to cook?" she asked as she ate the berries. "I mean, something more than just slicing bread and sticking take-out in a microwave?"

"I do." He reached around her to take a bowl from the cabinet. "Do you?"

She wrinkled her nose. "I think I'm okay with slicing bread and sticking take-out in a microwave."

Damon chuckled. It felt so comfortable having Elena around him. "Maybe you can learn to cook when you get married."

She leaned back against the counter, crossed her arms, and rolled her eyes. "I hope this is not an insult, Agent Salvatore."

"You know what they say; a way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

Five minutes later, dinner was on the table. Damon managed to wait until Elena had finished her lasagne and salad before he swept his plate aside and fixed her with a steely gaze.

Elena put down her fork. "What?"

"Don't play dumb, Elena. Are we going to act like adults and talk about what happened that night in the hotel, or are we going to ignore it?"

"We had already talked about it. In the hotel."

"Christ, Elena. Let's get this part right. You were hurt, you were emotional that night—I wanted to make sure I didn't take advantage of that. I didn't want to take advantage of you."

She glared up at him. "What a lousy time for you to start being nice again. I thought we talked about that." She jumped to her feet and began clearing the table. "You are the one who are avoiding me."

"I'm not avoiding you." He rose, picked up his dishes, and followed her into the kitchen.

She set the dishes in the sink. "Since I have moved into your place for the past few days, you have been acting like a decrepit bodyguard."

Damon came up behind her to put his plate and silverware into the sink. He was so close he could smell the warm, womanly scent of her body mixed with something herbal from the soap and shampoo she used. He wondered what she would do if he put his arms around her and kissed her. _Bad timing._

"It is my job to make sure that you are safe." He ought to move back, put some distance between them. He was too close for his own good. He was getting hard again.

She took care of his dilemma by stepping adroitly to the side. He watched her turn and lead the way back out of the kitchen.

"Then you can continue to be the bodyguard."

He stifled a groan. It was better this way. Even someone with bad timing in this kind of thing could see that.

Reluctantly he followed her out into the living room.

Lightning crackled in the distance. Real lightning, not his libido-driven imagination this time, he thought. It was followed by a distant roll of thunder.

 _Great. The rain would hit soon. Just like how I'm feeling now,_ he thought. _Miserable._

She opened the sliding glass doors and stepped outside onto his balcony. He watched Elena go to the railing.

She stood there studying the dark, roiling clouds as if something she saw in them fascinated her.

He followed her out onto the balcony. She did not turn around.

"Elena." He tried to think of something intelligent to say. He exhaled deeply. "I want to sleep with you, but part of me thinks that is a very bad idea."

She went still. "Why?"

"Trust me—this isn't any easier on me." He closed the distance between them until he was once more standing directly behind her. "I'm trying to stay focused here, Elena. My first priority has to be to keep you safe."

"Of course—I was just teasing, Damon."

"Elena, I care about you." A pained expression creased his handsome face. "I have to make sure nothing bad will ever happen to you."

There was a brief silence.

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment, keeping her gaze on the dark clouds. "I know you are trying your best to do your job."

"I meant what I said. I want more this time. But not right now."

She turned around very quickly, her eyes huge and shadowed in the strange storm light. "What do you mean?"

He watched her face. "I'm not interested in flings."

She raised her brows. "Flings?"

"An affair then? I'm not sure what people call it, you know, not dating, but, um, spending a couple of weeks having sex with someone…"

She frowned. "What are you trying to say?"

"When this is over, I want to go on a date with you."

"A date? Why?"

"Because I like you." He bent his head and kissed her full on the mouth.

He felt the tremor that went through Elena. It made everything in him very hard and tight. He heard a small, muffled sound, and then she pulled her mouth an inch or so away from his. She looked at him with deep, unreadable eyes.

"You like me?"

"Yes, I like you. I like you very much."

He took his hands off the railing and wrapped her in his arms. This time her mouth opened beneath his. He felt her palms settle tentatively on his waist. He could feel the thrust of her breasts beneath her loosely fitted denim shirt. The warmth of her body was a sharp contrast to the cool breeze that heralded the onrushing storm. He wanted to lose himself in that soft, feminine heat.

He deepened the kiss. Her arms went all the way around his waist. He eased one hand down the length of her spine to the graceful curve above her buttocks. He urged her hips against his thighs, seeking to ease the straining tension of his heavily aroused body.

She was invitingly firm in all the right places, enticingly soft in others. And she wasn't wearing a bra beneath the poet shirt. He could feel the tight buds of her nipples.

He slid his leg between hers.

The rain struck without warning. The balcony overhang provided little protection against the chill, wind-driven blast, and Elena was suddenly drenched.

The cold, wet fabric of his shirt clung to his skin. Elena flinched in his arms.

"Good grief." She stepped back quickly, pushing a tendril of wet hair out of her sultry eyes. Her kiss-softened mouth curved in with laughter. "I'm soaked. So are you."

"You see what I mean about not right now."

She was still laughing a few minutes later when Damon handed her the towels and ushered her to the bathroom.

She looked amused as she leaned against the bathroom door. "So I take it means that you aren't going to join me in the shower."

"Don't try to ruin me as an agent," he warned her.

She started to giggle. "I understand."

"But right now, I'm going to kiss you goodnight." With that, he leaned forward and captured her mouth with his. She threaded her hand through his hair and kissed him back, meeting his tongue hungrily with hers. By the time he freed her, they were both breathing hard.

"Elena," he murmured huskily. "The second this whole thing is over, I am going to hunt you down and give you the most mind-blowing night of your life."

She laughed. "I think I could schedule you in."

Damon was still smiling to himself when he went to his room. He should have been feeling at least a little let down, given the abrupt ending to what had promised to be an interesting evening. But for some reason he was in a surprisingly good mood.

There was a new, unfamiliar sense of anticipation humming inside him, a feeling of possibilities.

He felt good.

Very, very good.


	14. Chapter 14

Elena was upset, he thought.

Damon got to his feet from his chair and helped Elena into her jacket.

"You are upset," he said as they walked towards the elevator.

She glared at him. "I'm pissed. There is a difference between upset and pissed."

She hadn't spoken a word since he told her she shouldn't go to Caroline's wedding.

"I still can't believe you told me I can't go to her wedding," she said.

"You know the reason, Elena…"

"My safety." She sounded grumpy but she didn't care. "You know how much I have spent on the bridesmaid's dress and the shoes? I'm pissed because I was supposed to wear it to my friend's wedding."

"I can't let you go to Mystic Falls. The town is a good couple thousand miles from Chicago. We have to arrange for some agents to be sent from Richmond as backup…"

"Can't you arrange that?" she asked. "Caroline has planned this wedding for years—it means a lot to her. I'm her best friend. And I'm also the bridesmaid."

"Mystic Falls is somewhere in Richmond. I can't guarantee we can arrange for some agents to be sent from Richmond as backup. Trust me, you don't want to put everyone attending the wedding in danger, do you?"

"How dangerous is it?" she asked. She did not bother to conceal her scepticism. "Caroline's mum is the sheriff. I'm sure she can do a good job in terms of security."

"I'm sure the sheriff can," Damon said as they moved inside the lift. "But Elena, the killer is not an amateur. I can't take any chance here."

"I'm sure you are exaggerating. I'm sure the sheriff will be very careful."

"The problem is we don't know who we are dealing with. It is better to be safe than to be sorry."

Elena fixed him with a cool glare. "Matt will be pissed off if he has to step in as the maid of honour. Frankly speaking, I don't like the idea Matt replacing me as the maid of honour."

"Look, I'm sorry," Damon said. "I know this is hard on you and your friends. I will talk to Wes and see what he thinks."

"Hmm."

He was pushing her, and it was clear she didn't like it. Elena had every right to resent his actions. He knew how close she was with her friends.

"If we can send some agents there as back up and set up a security system, maybe we can get you to the wedding."

She brightened. "Really? You think it will be safe?"

"It is possible as long as we plan it properly."

She smiled. "Great. Okay. At least there is still hope."

"I said it is possible. It is not guarantee. Let's get out of here," he said as they got out of the elevator. He made it an order.

Elena shot him a questioning look, but she did not argue. Without a word, she moved towards the entrance. At the front of the building, she opened the heavy metal door and started to step outside.

Maybe he caught the small flash of light in the trees on the opposite side of the road because his senses were spiking on high alert. Or maybe it was just dumb luck. Whatever the reason, he reacted before the logical side of his brain could present a laundry list of reasonable explanations.

He wrapped one hand around Elena's upper arm and dragged her out of the doorway.

There was a solid thunk when the rifle round punched into the metal door frame. He heard the screams and saw Elena's blank expression of horror and incredulity.

"Damon!"

"I'm okay," he said. He rolled off of her. "Get away from the door. He may try a couple of wild shots, hoping to get lucky." He yelled at the security guard inside the building. "Call 911! Now!"

Under most circumstances, she didn't take orders well, but Damon seemed to know what he was doing. And it wasn't like she was an expert in this sort of thing, she thought.

She sat up and crawled quickly away from the partially open door, moving deeper into the building. She watched Damon shift position taken a gun from the holster at the small of his back.

Damon flattened himself on the floor and fired three fast shots. She could see from the angle of his weapon that he was firing at the trees across the road.

The shooter across the road did not return fire. A moment later the sound of a rapidly accelerating engine reverberated in the distance; the roar faded quickly as the vehicle sped away.

"He tried to kill one or both of us," Damon said.

Elena exhaled the breath she did not realize she had been holding. "I could see that. What now?"

"You are going out the back door. I will get the car and bring it around the building to pick you up."

"Are you sure it is safe to go out the front door?" she asked.

"He is gone," Damon said.

"You are sure?"

"Very sure."

"But you still want me to go out the back way?"

"Humour me, okay?"

"Okay," she said. "But promise me you will be very careful when you go out the front."

He smiled at her.

"I will be careful," he said.

She waited tensely at the rear door of the building, listening hard. She relaxed only somewhat when she did not hear any more shots.

A moment later, Damon drove around the corner of the building, braked to a halt and leaned across the passenger compartment to throw open the door. She quickly ran towards his Camaro and hopped up into the front seat.

"Are we going to report this to Wes?" she asked, buckling her seat belt.

"Sure." Damon drove away from the building river. "But I doubt that we will turn up any hard evidence. But the important thing is that word will get out around town that someone took a shot at you."

"That is a good thing?"

"It will put pressure on the shooter. He will think twice before he tries again because he knows that no cop will ignore a second shooting accident. That will buy me some time to find him."

"How do you intend to do that?" She stopped when she realized he was turning the wrong way onto the road. "Where are you going? Your place is the other direction."

"I'm taking you to the FBI office. Alaric will watch over you. I want to search around the area to see if I can locate the place where the shooter stood when he took the shot."

Elena glanced at him. "You think you will find something at the scene that will point us toward a suspect?"

"Maybe. Sometimes I get lucky."

Half an hour later, Damon and Wes were standing at the scene where the shooting took place.

"This is where the shooter stood when he pulled the trigger." Damon studied the scene. "He could see the building clearly. He knew what he was doing. It was bad luck that he missed because of the reflection."

Wes raised his brows. "How do you know that?"

"He was aiming at Elena but when she opened the heavy metal door, there was a reflection and it distracted him."

"I'm so glad no one was hurt.'

"So are we," Damon said. "But he won't stop until Elena is dead."

Wes' heavy jaw hardened. "Why did you say that?"

"He just tried to kill her in front of the building of the U.S. Attorney Office. He is very determined to get rid of her because she is the only witness of Mandy Robert's case."

"Son of a bitch," Wes growled. "We have to find this guy as soon as possible."

"Yes, we have to find him as soon as possible." _To keep Elena safe,_ he thought.

Wes rubbed his forehead, muttering "Jesus Christ. Media are camped out at the FBI office awaiting the word. What a nightmare!"

"I will make sure Elena is safe," Damon said.

"Make sure you do that," Wes warned him. "It will look very bad on the FBI if anything happens to her."

"I won't let anything happen to her," Damon said firmly. He could feel the weariness all the way to his bones but he wouldn't give in to it. There was no way he would get any sleep tonight. "I don't know where the killer is, but I expect to find him soon."

x x x

By turns, Trevor was enraged and nervous.

He had made a fool of himself.

How could he miss?

He must have looked real stupid to Damon Salvatore, when he had thought he was being so clever.

By now everyone in Chicago would have heard the story of how he had missed the shot because the reflection from the metal door distracted him. Trevor imagined the Damon Salvatore wiping tears from his eyes, slapping his knee with hilarity as he told everyone, "He doesn't know how to shoot. What a jackass."

They would have had a good laugh at his expense. Instead of being scared of him, they would regard him as a clumsy buffoon. The thought of that infuriated him. Mostly, though, he was mad at himself. He hadn't done Nancy proud.

He needed to fix that.

And that was what made him nervous, because he wasn't sure what he should do next.

Once he had put some distance between him and the Attorney office, he had switched his truck's license plates with those of another pickup he found at a twenty-four-hour Walmart. He had put on a straw cowboy hat and swapped out his leather vest for a shirt with long sleeves so that nobody would recognise him.

Afraid to stay with the senator in case the police came looking for him there, he had driven around all day, no destination in mind, never stopping for long, just keeping on the move. All the same, he felt trapped, like things were closing in on him.

But by damn, he couldn't get caught until Elena Gilbert was dead. So anything he did now had to count, and it had to count big. He must be bold.

"Take the bull by the horns." That was what he had learnt in the Army.

He knew what he had to do, and it didn't have to be fancy.

Once he had made up his mind, he had decided to go home.

Now, forty minutes after being thwarted again, he reached the duplex. He secured his pickup in the garage, then walked to the front door and let himself in. Groping his way around the living room, he lowered the blackout shades on both front windows. Only then did he move to a table and switch on a small-wattage lamp.

Turning toward the kitchen, he drew up short. "Jesus," he grumbled. "You scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here?"

Nathan Silas stepped out of the shadows and into the circle of feeble light. "I'm here because you completely screw up."


	15. Chapter 15

"Partner, I have some interesting news for you regarding the Robert's investigation," Alaric said. "You probably won't believe what you are going to hear."

Damon, phone clamped to his ear, reached the far end of his room. Confronted with a wall, he turned and paced back toward the opposite wall. He did not like the restless, edgy sensation that was feathering the fine hair on the back of his neck.

"I assume that interesting is your way of describing bad news?" Damon said.

"I will get to that," Alaric said. "We run a background check on Tanner Driscoll, the senator's chief of staff. He is clean."

Damon Judson rubbed the back of his neck. The edgy feeling was growing stronger. He knew it meant that he had overlooked something important.

"Trevor Lombard?"

"This is the interesting part."

"Stop beating around the bush, Alaric."

"Trevor is Nancy Whitmore's stepbrother."

Damon stopped in the middle of the room. "Are you sure?"

"A hundred per cent."

"Go on."

"But the senator isn't aware that Trevor is Nancy's stepbrother."

"Whitmore doesn't know Nancy has a stepbrother?"

"Interesting, uh?" Alaric said. "Trevor's parents divorced when he was ten. His mother remarried again a few years later but left Trevor with his aunt."

"And Nancy Whitmore knows about this."

"Yes. Nancy Whitmore was the one who recommended Trevor as a replacement for the senator's bodyguard ten years ago."

"But neither Nancy Whitmore nor Trevor has told anyone about their relationship."

"So it looks to us like maybe…"

"Nancy Whitmore said she knew nothing about the senator's affairs," Damon said. "If Trevor is her brother, and he is the one who arranged the meeting for the senator that night…"

"Don't tell me…"

"Nancy Whitmore knows about Mandy Robert."

"Shit."

"We have to find Trevor. Now."

x x x

Damon studied the house from beneath the branches of a dripping tree. Trevor Lombard's home stood dark and silent. "Are you sure Trevor is inside?"

"I have checked," Alaric said. "He has taken the day off."

"The light is off. Hell, is he really inside?"

"Beats me. What now? Go away and come back another night?"

Damon did not move. "You know, I would really like to find out if he is actually inside the house."

"How do you plan to do that?"

"How about if I just walk up to the front door and knock?"

Alaric looked at him. "Are you serious?"

"Why not?"

"This may be the asshole who wanted to burn Elena alive."

"So? We are FBI. If he is here, he is not going to try anything on his own front step. Attacking FBI on the front porch is a little harder to explain."

"You are right," Alaric said. "I'm coming with you."

They moved out of the trees. They both headed for the deeper shadows beneath the eaves of the house.

There was no light coming from behind the curtains that covered the kitchen window, but when they passed it Damon heard sounds of activity inside. Someone was talking.

He climbed the shadowed steps with Alaric.

The front door stood ajar. The pulsing firelight flickering inside the opening reminded Damon of a human heart beating.

A chill went through him. Something was very wrong.

"Oh, shit," Alaric whispered. "I don't like this."

Damon slid out the Glock 27 out the holster at the small of his back. Alaric did the same.

"Lombard!" Damon shouted through the partially open door. "We are FBI. Are you in there?"

There was an instant of frozen silence. And then the sound of footsteps running heavily toward the rear of the house. Damon heard the muffled sound of the back door opening.

Damon took two long strides to the edge of the porch and looked around the corner of the house. He was just in time to see a dark figure silhouetted at the edge of the clearing.

The figure paused, raised one arm.

Damon pulled back quickly, out of the line of fire. The shot crashed beneath the eaves of the house. Wood splintered in a porch post.

And then there was only silence.

"He is gone," Damon said. "Call a patrol car to search around the area. We have to find Lombard as soon as possible."

"Damon?"

The odd note in Alaric's voice made him turn swiftly.

"What is it?"

Alaric gazed intently through the crack in the doorway. "We have got a problem."

Damon walked back to the door and pushed it open wider. From the threshold, he could see through the small front hall into the firelit living room.

A figure dressed head-to-toe in black lay crumpled on the cushions in front of the low table.

Damon slowly led the way inside and came to a halt beside the body. Blood soaked the braided rug behind that person's head. There was more blood on the front of the black silk shirt.

"Jesus," Alaric said. "This is not good."

It was Nathan Silas.

"Dead," Damon said as he reached into his pocket for his cell phone.

"Why is Nathan Silas here?"

"I think it explains how Mandy Robert's killer find out about Elena." Damon punched the emergency number on his cell phone.

The 911 operator came on the line. Damon filled her in on the facts.

"Yeah, sure," he said, losing his patience with the endless litany of questions. "We will stick around until the police gets here. Make sure they send a patrol car to search around the neighbourhood."

He ended the call.

The rising wind howled in the trees.

x x x

Elena spotted Damon and Alaric first. Both men forged a path through the office. Nobody dawdled in their way, Elena noticed. When they got closer she understood why everyone was giving both men a wide berth. There was cold steel in both pairs of eyes.

She could feel the chill all the way across the room.

"Something happened," she said to Luke, the FBI agent who was assigned to watch after her while Damon was away.

Elena stood up and moved towards them. She went straight into Damon's arms the moment she reached him. She didn't care how many pairs of eyes were staring at them.

"What happened?" she said against his jacket. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." He hugged her close. "We are both okay."

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Long story," Alaric said.

"We will talk inside your office." With one arm around Elena's waist, Damon led the way towards her office.

Elena obediently lowered herself onto her chair. Damon and Alaric sat down across the desk. Luke stood close to the door.

She looked at Damon. "All right, let's have it."

"Nathan Silas is dead," he said.

She felt as if the air had been sucked out of her lungs.

"Dead?" Her voice rose. "He is dead? Are you sure?"

"Real sure," Damon said.

"What happened? Who killed him?"

"Not us," Alaric assured her dryly. "Someone else was there. Shot him twice."

"Who?" Elena demanded.

"Our guess is Trevor Lombard," Damon answered. "Alaric found out he is the stepbrother of the senator's wife but they have kept their relationship in secret."

She looked confused. "What has it to do with Nathan?"

"We suspect Nancy Whitmore and Lombard are behind the murder of Mandy Robert."

Elena blinked. "Oh."

"We went to look for Lombard and we found Silas…"

"What?" Elena shot up and planted both palms on the table. "Lombard shot Nathan when you arrived?"

"We didn't see him shoot Nathan," Alaric said. "In fact, we didn't see him because he didn't hang around long. Only fired one shot in our direction before he split."

"Oh, my God," Elena whispered. "Oh, my God."

She sat down again. Hard. She had a feeling her mouth was hanging open in an unattractive fashion, but she couldn't summon up the will to close it. She propped her elbows on the table and dropped her face into her hands.

"As much as I hate to admit it, it is possible that Silas is the reason why your identity as the witness is being exposed," Damon said. "We are going to take another look at Silas' background. See if there is any link to Lombard."

Elena raised her head. "You are right. That is progress."

Alaric folded his arms on the table and looked at Elena. "I still don't understand why Silas exposed your identity."

"I have been working on a new conspiracy theory," Damon said. "What if Lombard blackmailed Silas to tell him about Robert's investigation?"

Elena looked at him. "Blackmail?"

"Yes. Silas was afraid Lombard would expose him because of his

"What if Lombard figured out Silas' dirty past and decided to use it against him to help out?"

"I see where you are going," Elena said. "But what did Lombard know about Nathan's past that we don't?"

"Richard Lockwood," Damon said.

Her eyes widened. "Oh, my God! That would explain why Nathan didn't want to file any charges against Richard Lockwood three years ago."

Alaric looked at Damon. "If you and Elena are right, you see where it leads?"

Damon nodded. "Right back to Richard Lockwood. Somehow Lombard had figured out Silas had been accepting bribes from one of the country's biggest crime lords. Silas was the one who told him about your involvement with Mandy Robert's case."

Alaric said, "We can't just stand by and let Lombard do whatever he wants."

"The police have his license plate number. Hopefully he will be apprehended soon."

"But until he is—"

"We got to keep looking over our shoulders."

"It is time to talk to Nancy Whitmore."

x x x

That night the feature story on the six o'clock news was the murder of Nathan Silas. There hadn't been an official announcement on the identity of the killer but according to CPD officials, Trevor Lombard was being sought for questioning in the shooting.

The murder of Nathan Silas had divided the press corps. Many reporters who would have been covering the attempted shooting at Elena were instead keeping vigil outside the house of Senator Whitmore, awaiting word on from the senator.

"I have no comment on that."

That was what the senator had said to the press.

Trevor stopped at a service station and used a pay phone to call Nancy.

He looked over his shoulder, feeling like the phone booth was a shooting gallery and there was a bull's-eye on his back.

"Hello?"

"It's me."

"Jesus Christ," she hissed. "What have you done?"

"He threatened to turn me in."

She groaned. "You idiot. Do you realise what this means?"

Trevor swiped his bare arm across his sweaty forehead. "I will fix it."

"Listen! Listen to me. The fact is the fact is, I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Trevor. I'm torn."

"Torn?"

"Between duty and obligation. Between the law and justice."

"I don't get it."

"Did the FBI see you shoot Nathan Silas?"

"I don't think so as I didn't hang around long after I shot Silas."

"You didn't leave anything behind? Or take anything?"

"No. And I have changed the tags on my truck."

There was a brief silence before Nancy finally gave a deep sigh. "You should have checked with me before taking these actions. But you didn't, so now the FBI is on the lookout for you."

"I know."

"You need to get out of here as soon as possible."

A customer at one of the service station pumps was eyeing him. Probably he was just an average Joe whose Dodge Ram was running low on fuel, but Trevor didn't know whether he was being watched by the FBI. "I can't talk any longer. I have got to move."

"Wait! What are…"

"Relax. You are my sister, and I won't betray my family. I need to take care of something and then I will be gone."

"What are you going to do?"

"Take care." He hung up before she could say anything more.

He would have done anything for his sister. No doubt about it.


	16. Chapter 16

For the next two days, Elena had little time to worry about Trevor Lombard, so engrossed was she in the final preparations for her trial and also with the sudden death of Nathan. She and Valarie, the junior associate working with her on the case, bunkered down in her office from dawn till dusk, running through the trial from jury selection to closing arguments. The trial was scheduled to last just under two weeks; she didn't have much time left.

Elena knew Damon, too, had a lot on his plate. They hadn't spent a lot of time together in the past two days. To be fair, Damon was always with her but Wes had allocated another agent with them since the shooting in front of the Attorney Office.

She was afraid the date Damon offered would prove to be an illusion. What if he had changed his mind?

He said he wanted more this time. He wanted a date.

How many men would want a date right now? She knew some people believed that dating sounded way too tiring and boring. Sex, most men could handle. But not a new romance.

"You have to take some chances," she reminded herself. Damon wouldn't disappoint her. She had never met anyone like him.

Her phone rang as she left the Courthouse. She dug it out of her purse, saw that it was Damon and hit the talk button as she crossed the lot to where Luke had parked his car. "Hey you."

"Hey you. How are you?"

"I'm heading back to the office. I'm still at the Courthouse."

"Where is Luke?"

"He is waiting for me inside the car."

"What? He should be…"

"Calm down, Damon. We are at the Courthouse. Nothing is going to happen."

"I should have been with you. Nancy Whitmore's timing couldn't be worse, but I want to be there for the meeting."

"You definitely should," Elena said.

"I will be at your office as soon as possible."

"This is important to you, so don't rush it on my account. Besides, I have a few emails to reply and also some documents to go through. I may be late tonight."

"I will cook dinner tonight."

Elena smiled. "Sounds good."

"Be careful."

"I will. I will talk to you later, okay?"

When they hung up, Elena made her way to Luke's car and got inside the passenger side.

"I'm sorry you have to wait. Damon just called…"

"It is about time we meet."

Elena turned around and gasped.

The driver next to her wasn't Luke. It was Trevor Lombard.

Where the hell was she?

Damon paced the room of Elena's office. She had said she was leaving the Courthouse, but that was more than an hour ago. It didn't take an hour to drive to back to the Attorney Office.

With a curse, he dialled her phone again. He had already tried half a dozen times to reach her. Every call went straight to voice mail. Luke was the same.

This one was no different. "Damn it!" he said and threw his phone on the couch in frustration.

"What's wrong?"

Amy, Elena's secretary stood at the doorway, her expression worried.

"Nothing," he mumbled, but he was too upset to sit down. It felt as if he should be doing something with his hands. What, he had no idea, so he thrust them in his pockets.

"Where is Elena? Didn't she say she was on her way back here?"

His phone rang before he could answer Amy's question. He quickly snatched it off the couch.

Unidentified appeared on caller ID.

He punched the talk button. "Hello?"

"I have got something you want," a man said.

Damon's chest constricted until he could hardly breathe. He didn't recognise that voice. But he had a bad feeling about it. "What is it?"

"You can't guess? You are as weak as the rest, Salvatore. All because of a woman."

"Lombard." Nausea roiled in Damon's stomach. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"You don't? Tsk, tsk. I thought you might be sceptical. But, here, I will make it easy."

Damon's grip tightened on the phone as he heard Trevor encourage someone to speak. Then Elena's voice came through, her words a frantic rush. "Don't do it, Damon! Don't do anything he asks! Stay away-"

The scream that cut off those words went through Damon like a shard of glass. Swallowing hard, he glanced at Amy. She was still standing in the hall, watching him curiously. "Lombard, don't you dare…"

"Don't dare what?" he taunted. "Don't kill her? I might have broken her jaw, but she is not dead. Yet. You are the one who will decide her fate. Not me."

"You know what she means to me. I would kill anyone who harmed her," Damon said with cold simplicity

"If you care about her, I suggest you do everything I say."

"What?" he asked.

"I'm offering you a trade-your life for hers."

"How?"

"Come to the old warehouse just out of town."

Damon preferred to keep Trevor in town, if possible, where there would be a better chance of escaping or getting help. "I don't know where that is."

"Then get a pen. I will give you the address."

What should he do?

"You still there, tough guy?" Trevor asked.

"I'm here," Damon said from between clenched teeth and pretended to write down the address he rattled off. "When can we meet?"

"Now."

"You are asking for trouble, Lombard…"

"I won't hurt her. Unless you call the FBI. Do that and she is dead."

Damon knew that unless they got very lucky, Trevor would kill her regardless. "I'm on my way."

"Clock is ticking," he said. Then he was gone.

x x x

Elena was handcuffed to a rod in the back of a utility van that had no windows, other than those in the front. She could feel the tires thrumming against the pavement, could hear music playing on the radio. And once she'd managed to focus her blurry vision, she could see the back of the man who had attacked her when she had gotten into Luke's car. It was Trevor Lombard.

After subduing her long enough to bind and gag her, he had disappeared. But he'd returned almost immediately, this time with a white van he left idling beside Luke's Camry while he dragged her from one vehicle to the other.

Elena vaguely remembered him using her cell phone to call Damon. Then a torrent of memories descended-what he had said on the phone and how explosively he had reacted when she had tried to tell Damon not to listen. It hurt to move her jaw. The way her cheekbone throbbed made her wonder if he had broken bones in her face.

She knew she couldn't die. Her aim was to get out of this alive. As frightened as she was, as unsure as she felt of her own ability to withstand this fresh onslaught of terror, she had to dig deep, think quick, act brave.

"Hey, you coming around back there?" Trevor hollered.

Elena hadn't expected him to speak to her. He had seemed too absorbed in his thoughts and the music.

With a tortured sigh, she laid her throbbing head on her arms.

When she didn't answer, he turned around to see her. She could hear the difference in the volume of his voice. "How you feeling?"

"Like I have been beaten up by a loser with no conscience," she muttered.

"That is funny Miss Attorney," he said. "You are a real comedian. But maybe you should show some respect and just be glad you weren't killed by that 'loser.' It is not too late for me to change my mind, you know."

She knew that very well. But if he hadn't killed her already, he was keeping her alive for a reason.

"What are you doing, Lombard?" Her tone suggested he was nothing more than a recalcitrant child. She wasn't about to give him the pleasure of revealing how much he frightened her.

"You know what I'm doing. I'm using you to get to Damon Salvatore. I'm tired of his bullshit. We are going to get this over with once and for all. And then I will be free."

"Maybe you will kill Damon. Maybe you will kill me, too. But you won't be free. Your actions will be with you every day of your life. The FBI won't rest until they track you down and put you in jail. It will never be over."

"Don't try to scare me," he said. "I outsmarted the entire Chicago police department that night at the Peninsula. They wouldn't find me. No one will." He laughed triumphantly. "Salvatore wouldn't have been able to suspect there was something wrong with Mandy Robert's murder if you hadn't been there that night."

"You have committed felonies, Lombard," she told him. "You need to turn yourself in." She groaned as if trying to get more comfortable, but she was really testing the handcuffs. Was there any way to slip her hands out?

No, they were so tight they were cutting into her wrists. The pole was solid, too. Even if she used all her strength, she wouldn't be able to bend or break it. She was trussed up like a turkey, completely powerless as they hurtled closer and closer to the fate Trevor had planned for her. "Believe me, you can't run away," she added.

"I'm not sorry for what I have done. Mandy Robert didn't deserve to live."

"You killed Mandy Robert because of your sister."

Trevor said nothing.

"What about Nathan? Why did you kill him?"

"He shouldn't have come to my house," Trevor hissed. "He was mad because I attempted to shoot you in front of the Attorney Office. He threatened to turn me to the police. I had no choice…"

Where was her cell phone? Trevor had taken it. He had grabbed it from her right before plunging his fist into her face. Or maybe he had hit her with something other than his fist? She hadn't actually seen a weapon, but it had felt more like a baseball bat.

"Listen, Trevor. You don't want to do this," Elena said. "If you go to the police and tell them…"

"Shut up! I don't want to talk to you anymore!"

She pushed against the back doors with her feet. Maybe he hadn't locked them properly. "You can't run away. Damon will find you."

"I'm not leaving until you are both dead."

Those words brought back the fear. His intentions were unmistakable. And no matter how hard she pressed on the doors, they wouldn't budge. There was no way to free herself, no way out. "You won't get away with it," she said. But with every passing mile, it looked more and more as if he would.

Damon was racing through the streets to get out of town in his Camaro. He had texted Alaric about what happened and the address of the warehouse. The FBI would be on their way. He just needed to buy himself a little time first so that he could get Elena out safely.

The gun he normally carried rested at the small of his back he knew a weapon was no guarantee. Trevor would have a gun, too.

So how would he get Elena out of the warehouse before all hell broke loose?

He would try to outsmart the son of a bitch.

The old warehouse came up on his right. Slowing to a crawl, he found the driveway and inched forward, eventually parking to the left of a white van. Except for a single porch light, the place was dark. Trevor had made it impossible for Damon to see inside.

But Damon had chosen the perfect parking spot; Trevor couldn't see him, either. He wasn't about to march up to the front door. If Trevor could get off a clean shot, take him down that easily, he would do it. Then there would be no reason for him to keep Elena alive.

He left his keys in the ignition so Elena could drive it if he was lucky enough to get her out of the house, and he went around to the trunk. There, he peeled off his jacket and strapped on a bulletproof vest. He had a flashlight in the trunk, too, as well as a pair of infrared goggles.

Although the temperature felt like it was dropping fast, Damon put his jacket in the trunk. He didn't want to wear anything that might restrict his movements. He had too much adrenaline pouring through him to be bothered by the cold, anyway.

After stuffing ammunition in every pocket, he closed the trunk with a quiet click. Then he crouched with his gun at the ready and began working his way to the back of the house.


	17. Chapter 17

Trevor stood to the side of the window. He had seen the car slow, and then turn down the driveway, watched as the headlights drew closer. He had been tempted to shoot at that vehicle. Maybe he could hit the driver before this went any further. But he knew he might just shatter the window and scare Damon off before he could get him in the house.

He had to bide his time, wait for the right moment…But his nerves were stretching taut. He told himself to keep a cool head. He would take care of Damon and Elena, the two people who really mattered. Then he would get the hell out of town and disappear for good. A new name, a new identity, a new life.

Elena groaned. Apparently, she realized that lover boy was here. Whether she truly believed it or not, Damon was about to meet his maker, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. Trevor had tied her to a chair-gagged her, too. When Damon didn't immediately show himself, he put a gun to her head. "You would better hope he doesn't try anything funny."

As they waited, Trevor could feel sweat matting Elena's hair. Maybe she acted tough, but she was scared. She had reason to be. If he could, Trevor planned to blow her away right in front of Damon.

He imagined wounding Damon, then tying him up so he could have all kinds of fun with them both. Maybe he would slit Elena's wrists and rape her while she bled out at Damon's feet.

Trevor smiled at the thought of making her moan and writhe in pain while Damon looked on, helpless to stop him. "Relax, sweetheart." He smoothed her hair when she began to tremble. "This will all be over in a minute."

Where the hell was Damon Salvatore? he thought. Leaving Elena a few feet away, Trevor leaned against the cold window, trying to discern the shadows over by the cars. Before his breath fogged up the glass, he could see fairly well. But he couldn't make out the shape of a man. There was no sound, either. No movement.

"You are pissing me off, asshole," he sang out, and Elena whimpered. "You get it," he told her. "You know he is pushing my buttons, don't you? I'm going to punish you both for that."

Then he heard a bang loud enough to wake the dead. He jumped at the sudden noise, relaxing only when he figured out what had caused it. Damon had just kicked in the back door. He was in the warehouse.

Taking a calming breath, he turned Elena's chair in the other direction and stood behind it, his gun to her temple. The show was about to begin.

Elena's heart pounded in her throat as she silently prayed. _Please don't let him be killed. Please don't let him be killed._

She didn't think she could take seeing Damon being shot down, lying dead. She had asked Damon to stay away, wanted him to stay away, despite what it meant for her. She loved him. She didn't want him to die because of her. But she knew that the man who had approached the house wouldn't play it safe.

What did that mean?

It meant someone wouldn't walk away from this tonight. That someone could be Damon, or it could be her, or it could be both of them.

Only if they were extremely lucky would it be Trevor.

Determined to make sure that Damon knew where the danger was, Elena began to grunt and moan as loudly as possible.

"Shut up!" Trevor hissed and hit her with his pistol, once, twice, three times.

Pain ignited with each blow. She could feel blood rolling into her eyes, but she wouldn't stop. Trevor wouldn't kill her. Not yet. She was Trevor's insurance policy-and Damon's handicap.

Following the muted sounds from the living room, Damon found what he was looking for. But he didn't enter the room. He used the door as a shield against any bullets that might fly toward him.

With his infrared goggles, he could see Trevor standing behind Elena, who was tied to a chair. He would have squeezed off a shot himself, but he couldn't shoot in that direction, because he couldn't risk hurting the wrong person.

"Let her go," he said.

Trevor was so angry; Damon could hear him wheeze with each gulp of air. "The stupid bitch!" he was yelling. "I'm going to kill her. I'm going to kill you both, so help me God."

"You are going to need someone's help," Damon told him. "Because if she is dead-you are, too."

"She is not dead," he cried and lifted her head by the hair. "Say something!" he screamed at her.

Elena groaned and her eyelids fluttered open, but she seemed confused, dazed. And she was obviously bleeding. The sight of her injuries made every muscle in Damon's body tense. Trevor had beaten her. Damon hadn't expected that. He had expected Trevor to care too much about getting to him to risk hurting her.

Trevor was losing his edge, sacrificing reason to emotion. But that wasn't a good thing. It made him less predictable and far more dangerous.

What now? Damon needed Elena to be conscious, alert. He needed her to walk out under her own power and be able to drive the car. He wanted her as far away from this place as she could get.

"Elena? You okay?" he asked.

There was no response.

"Answer him!" Trevor raised his gun as if he would hit her again, but Damon growled a warning that stopped his downward thrust.

"You hit her one more time and I will shoot you this instant. Do you understand me?"

"You won't try to shoot," Trevor said.

Getting down on one knee, Damon took careful aim. "Try me."

It was a bluff, but it worked. Trevor didn't strike Elena. Lowering his gun, he shook her with the opposite hand.

"Hey, snap out of it. Salvatore is here. Tell him you are fine." He tore off her gag. "Tell him you want to go home."

"I want to go home," she repeated dully, and Damon wished, more than anything, that he could make it possible.

"Untie her. She has nothing to do with this, Lombard. This is between you and me."

"Throw down your gun and I will."

Damon couldn't do that. The second he did, he and Elena would both be at Trevor's mercy. "I won't give up my gun."

"Damon, get out of here." Elena seemed to be regaining her faculties, but Damon ignored her. He couldn't afford the distraction. Not right now.

"Cut her loose and let her walk out," he told Trevor.

"Are you kidding me? So she can help you? So she can call the police?"

Damon's finger began to sweat on the trigger. He wasn't getting out of this as quickly as he had hoped. The FBIs were probably on their way. "This is your game, Lombard. What kind of play do you want to call?"

"That's it. She is dead." Trevor spoke as if he was tired of fooling around, as if killing Elena was his only way out. So this time when he put the gun to her head, Damon feared he would really pull the trigger.

In a panic, he raised his own weapon to get off a shot he hoped would save her life. It was her only chance. But the blast that nearly blew out his eardrums told him Trevor had fired first.

The noise took Trevor by complete surprise. He had been about to pull the trigger when someone fired at him from the other doorway. Who the hell was it? Was the FBI here? Trevor had been so caught up in his standoff with Damon, he hadn't noticed any other movement, any other noise-but he hadn't been listening for it, either.

Scrambling to take cover before he could be fired on from both directions, he managed to roll behind the couch, which effectively shielded him from both doorways. Elena was the only one out in the open. She was tied to that chair and couldn't move, but Trevor didn't care about her. He thought it would be the greatest irony in the world if Damon shot her himself.

Another shot rang out. This one sounded as if it lodged in a wall. A third followed. Damon dashed in to save Elena. Trevor heard the shot and the resounding grunt. He had been firing himself, had done so several times, but he didn't think he had hit anything.

In an instant, Damon toppled the chair and threw himself on top of Elena, protecting her with his body. Now that he was so low to the ground, Trevor couldn't hit him without standing up, and he knew the second he got up he would be dead.

"FBI! Drop your weapon!"

Trevor became aware of Damon pulling Elena from the room. He wanted to stop them, but he couldn't lift his head without the risk of having it blown off. It seemed the FBI who had pinned him down from the opposite doorway was determined to keep shooting. But just as that thought went through his mind, the bullets stopped.

"Take her and get out of here," Alaric called in the ensuing silence. "Drop your weapon, Lombard."

Trevor shook his head. "Hell, no. I'm not going to lose." Then he fired a final shot into the ceiling and ran out the back.

The stampede of feet told Trevor the FBIs were coming through the front door. "Put down your weapon!"

"You are not taking me in. I won't go to prison," Trevor said. Then he turned the gun on himself. Squeezing his eyes closed, he swallowed hard and told himself to pull the trigger. One shot, and his brains would splatter on the wall. It would all be over. It was the only way left to win.

But he couldn't do it. He didn't have the guts.

Sagging to his knees, he let the gun fall as tears began to streak his face. Damon had won.

Elena couldn't believe that she and Damon were safe. Although she felt as if her head was about to explode from the beating, she knew she would be okay.

"Are you sure you are not hurt?" she asked as Damon held her in the back of Alaric's car. Alaric was inside now, but he had called an ambulance, was insisting that Elena get medical help. Afterward, she would have to answer a lot of questions. But that could wait. The FBI had more important things to do right now.

"I'm fine. Seriously."

"That's good." She closed her eyes until she felt Damon nudge her gently.

"Can you believe it is over?" he murmured.

She gazed at the car that held Trevor. He wasn't looking at them. His head was bowed as if he knew he had made the biggest mistake of his life.

"He is going to prison," she said.

"No one is ever going to hurt you again."

"You saved our lives."

"I can't let him hurt you."

"Wow," she murmured. "You have got me feeling all warm and fuzzy."

His laugh was a deep rumble. "Don't get too excited, Miss Gilbert."

She slipped her hand into Damon's. "This is nice."

"You are feeling okay?" he asked.

She snuggled closer to him with a contented sigh. "I'm doing better than I have in a long while."

"Because you are in love with me?" he teased.

"Because you are in love with me," she said and pecked him on the lips.


	18. Chapter 18

The robust sound of organ music surged through the Mystic Falls church as Caroline walked slowly down the centre aisle, her feet moving in time to the traditional music. As the maid of honour, Elena stood to one side of the altar while Klaus and his brother, who was serving as best man, waited on the other. The church was decorated with poinsettias, accented by white roses.

Caroline's mum, Liz, stood directly ahead of her. She smiled at Caroline as the assembly rose and Caroline came down the aisle, her heart overflowing with happiness.

As the organ concluded the "Wedding March," Caroline handed her bouquet to Elena and placed her hands in Klaus's. Elena saw Damon standing beside Matt. She smiled at him and he smiled back. The heat of love burned in his eyes.

The wedding party Caroline had planned for months went well.

On that night after Damon had sent Elena to the hospital, the feature story on the six o'clock news was the arrest of Trevor Lombard who had been charged with the murder of Mandy Robert and Nathan Silas.

On Tuesday of the following week, Nancy Whitmore was officially questioned regarding the murder of Mandy Robert. She had heatedly denied any connection to the murder. She had also denied any knowledge of Trevor's plan to kill Mandy Robert. Trevor, soon began to fear that he was about to become his sister's sacrificial lamb. He beat her to the punch by offering to testify against her in return for less sentences in jail.

Senator Whitmore, seeing an immediate need to salvage his image, and acting on his lawyers' instructions, had filed a divorce immediately. Nancy Whitmore was furious and told the media about the senator's affairs and his interest in men dressing as women. The senator's career was put to an end.

To Damon and Elena's surprise, the newly appointed U.S. Attorney had decided to open the Lockwood case again. They watched it all happening on the television news. They knew Richard Lockwood was finished.

Damon stood just inside one of the large, white tents that had been set up for the reception. There were a lot of people he didn't know. He didn't mingle. He swirled the champagne in his glass, watching everyone.

"Hey Salvatore."

Damon turned to see that Matt had made his way over to him. "Hey."

"What do you think of the wedding?"

Damon glanced at the bridal couple finishing the first waltz. "Beautiful wedding."

"Caroline has planned this since she was a kid."

They stood together for a while, watching the crowd. Damon noticed that Matt made no effort to walk away.

"Looks like we are going to be seeing a lot of each other again," Matt offered finally. "Since you and Elena are together now."

"Hmm."

"Interesting response."

Damon pulled his eyes away from Elena, who had just smiled at him from where she was talking to Liz. "What's interesting response?" he asked Matt.

"This better work out, Salvatore. I swear to God, if you don't treat her right—"

"Don't sweat it." Damon took a sip of his champagne. "She is my life."

"Wow."

Damon narrowed his eyes. "What?"

Matt grinned. "I don't know if I have ever seen a man so in love with a woman."

"Is it that obvious?" Damon said with a laugh.

"You can't take your eyes off her."

"No," Damon admitted.

"I hope to fall that hard some day," Matt said wistfully and glided away through the crowd.

Damon was about to walk over to the bar, but he saw Elena approaching. "Are you hiding from me, Agent Salvatore?"

"Not in a million years."

He took her hand.

"Dance with me, Elena?" he asked.

"Certainly." She let him lead her out onto the crowded floor. "But this dance does not qualify as a date."

He pulled her into his arms. "No, this dance is not a date." He tightened his arms around her. "I do keep my promise."

"Do you?" she asked teasingly.

"I did say the second this whole thing is over, I am going to hunt you down and give you the most mind-blowing night of your life. And I will definitely do that."

She smiled at him. "I love you, Damon."

"I love you too, Elena."

x x x

The flight attendant set Elena's meal down in front of her.

"And one vegetarian entrée for you," she said efficiently before turning to serve lunch to the passengers across the aisle.

Damon looked at Elena. "Vegetarian? Now there's a surprise."

"I'm not like you. "How do you maintain such an incredible body when you eat like that?" she asked him, wanting to kick herself for wording it quite that way.

His eyes shot to her face, his expression mischievous. "Incredible, huh?"

She shrugged. What was the point in denying it? His body was incredible. "Well, it is."

Damon laughed at that. "I will make sure you spend all the energy wisely this whole week."

Elena glanced nervously around the cabin. "People are listening."

"Sorry, I can't help it when my girlfriend is so flexible in bed."

The passenger across the aisle gaped at them.

Elena blushed and punched his arm lightly. "Damon!"

Damon leaned over. "I apologise. I tend to get a little excited sometimes." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I'm normal, healthy man. You should understand how I feel."

The passenger shook his head and started eating the entrée in front of him.

Elena rolled her eyes. "You are terrible, Damon Salvatore."

Damon had surprised her by organising a trip to Hawaii. They would only be gone for a week, which was all the time Elena could afford to take, since she had several large cases coming up. If there had been any lingering doubts that Damon really loved her, they were long gone. He wasn't the type of man who expressed his love with flowery words and gifts. But Elena had known that from the first.

Later that evening, Elena stood in front of the closet in her underwear, scrutinizing her dress for wrinkles. She was relieved to see it had survived the plane trip relatively unscathed because she had absolutely zero skill when it came to using an iron and there wasn't time to iron anyway because she was supposed to meet Damon in the hotel bar downstairs in five minutes.

She still couldn't believe she was in Hawaii with Damon. She and Damon were here, at the luxurious hotel in Hawaii, just steps from the white-sand beach and the cerulean blue water of Hawaii, on holiday.

Elena had stayed in nice hotels before, of course. It also wasn't the first time she had been on holiday.

But.

This time it didn't feel the same.

She was nervous.

After checking in at the front desk, Damon had left the room for Elena to freshen up while he went down to sort out their dinner at seven.

Elena had been looking forward to this holiday. She had snuck in a quick bikini wax after learning that they would be taking this trip. She had also slipped on her sexy black lace underwear moments ago. Well, her fitted lace dress practically required her to wear a thong and low-cut plunge bra in order to avoid tacky panty and bra lines.

Ad she had used a bit of dark liner that evening for a smoky-eye look and she had spent an extra ten or twenty minutes on her hair, tying her hair into a fishtail braid. She had also put her favourite perfume on her skin, a little here, a little there. She had gone through these efforts because this whole trip was very important to her.

She wanted to impress Damon. She wanted him to remember this trip forever.

Damn – she was late. Elena suddenly caught sight of the clock on the night stand. She hurriedly slipped into her dress and slid on her heels.

She didn't want Damon to wait too long.

The elevator reached the first floor and the doors opened. As Elena stepped out, she felt a momentary flutter of - excitement? Nervousness? She wasn't sure.

She cut through the hotel lobby and found the bar, where she was supposed to meet Damon. She didn't know why should she be nervous. It was only a date. She had gone out with men before.

She walked into the bar and was surprised to see such a large crowd already gathered there. Her eyes quickly scanned the room, first the main bar, then the private tables, and found Damon at neither. Then she spotted an outdoor terrace.

Elena headed outside and saw that the bar's terrace overlooked the ocean. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the low light provided by the softly flickering candles that adorned the tables. Through the crowd, she finally spotted Damon near the back, seated at a table along the balcony ledge.

Damon had his profile to her as he looked out at the ocean. She headed over and – taking advantage of the fact that he had not yet seen her – too her time enjoying the way he looked in his dark grey suit and pure white shirt. She watched the ease and sophistication of his movements, the self-assured way he held the rocks glass as he took a sip, the subtle brush of his sleeve as he checked his watch. He certainly had styles in spades, no doubt about that, and he was undeniably, incredibly good-looking.

As if sensing her approach, Damon looked over. When he saw Elena, he turned in his chair and watched as she walked towards him.

"You look amazing." His eyes swept over her dress.

Elena stopped at the table and smiled. "Thanks. You look nice too."

Damon watched her settle into the chair across from him. "You are also late." But his look suggested he didn't really mind.

"I'm sorry; I know," Elena said. She crossed one leg over the other so that it revealed a fair amount of her thigh.

"So, what's for dinner?" she asked teasingly.

Damon glanced down at her exposed leg, and when he looked up, his blue-grey eyes bore right through her.

"You know we have some unfinished business I plan to get to after dinner, right?"

Elena literally felt her breath catch at the way Damon looked at her right then, a look that told her in no uncertain terms exactly what he wanted. No other man had that effect on her; no one else could make her heart race with just one glance and a few simple words. And it was in that moment that she knew without any hesitation exactly this was what she had always wanted.

"I guess the question I have, Damon…" She paused lingeringly as she reached across the table and took his hand. She began to trace soft, slow circles with her fingers. "…Is how are we ever going to get through this dinner?"

She saw the flash of desire in his eyes as he took her hand in his.

"As quickly as possible," he said in a husky voice. He lightly brushed his lips against her fingers, his eyes never leaving hers, and Elena could tell that he wanted to kiss her as much as she wanted him to. "But I promise you a date and I'm going to make sure this is a proper date."

Elena pulled back, eyeing Damon across the candlelit table. "Okay. Maybe you should start buying me a drink."

"That's awfully retro for you, isn't it?"

"Can't I be old-fashioned, too?" she asked. Even if she knew what she wanted, that didn't mean the games had to be over. She was really enjoying this.

But Damon was on to her. He leaned back in his chair. "So, this is how you want to play this."

"Hmm…disappointed?"

With a smile of amusement, Damon shook his head. "Not at all. Just remember, Elena, two can play at that."

More smoky blue eyes.

Damn. She really needed to devise a countermove to scorching hot sex looks.

But until she did, Elena planned to savour every moment of the fun that lay ahead.


	19. Chapter 19

Shortly after nine o'clock, Elena and Damon stood in the lobby. He reached out and took Elena by the hand. "Come on. There is something I want to show you."

"I bet there is," she said with a laugh.

Damon grinned. "I meant the beach. We have been here for a few hours and haven't seen it yet." He led Elena through the lobby, in the direction of the veranda. When he held the door open for her as they stopped outside, he caught her look.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said. "You surprise me sometimes, that's all."

"I promise I will give you the most mind-blowing night of your life and I intend to keep my words."

Damon led Elena down the stone steps that would take them to the walkway he had spotted earlier from the balcony of their hotel room. He liked the way her hand felt in his, liked the simple intimacy of the gesture and the way it said – without the needs for words – that they were together.

"What are you thinking about?" Elena cut into Damon's thought. He peered down and saw her studying him curiously.

"You have such a devious look on your face," she said, her brown eyes sparkling with interest.

Damon laughed, pulling her closer to him. "You know me too well."

They found a gazebo, presumably one used for small wedding, at the end of the walkway. Elena made an executive decision that they should stop there – Damon wasn't the only one running this show, after all – and led him to the railing that overlooked the ocean. There, she turned around to face him. Sure, the view was great, but that wasn't what she stopped for. Without so much as another word, she reached up to Damon and kissed him.

His hand slid to the nape of her neck, demanding more from the kiss as his tongue met hers. Every part of Elena's body reacted – she wanted more, too, needed his hands on her, needed to feel him, and her breath caught and she nearly moaned out loud when Damon pushed her back against the railing and slid between her legs. His mouth left hers and trailed down her neck and along her collarbone. Then he daringly went further, to the dip in the neckline of her dress, and without any hesitation he pulled her dress and bra aside and lowered his mouth to her breast.

This time, Elena did moan. Only vaguely aware of the sound of waves crashing behind her, she arched her back and tangled her fingers in Damon's hair, giving into pure physical need. Wanting to touch him, she pulled his mouth up to hers and slid her hands along his chest, then down his stomach. She felt his abs tighten under her fingers as they came to rest on his belt buckle. She kissed him hungrily as she started to undo his belt. Damon pulled his mouth away from hers. "Let's go back up to the room," he whispered.

Elena could hear – and feel – how badly Damon wanted her. The thought of making him totally lose it sent thrills running down her spine.

"Maybe we should walk a little farther. We do have all night." She took Damon's hand and brought it to her mouth. With her eyes on his, she kissed his finger and – while he watched – slowly slid the tip between her lips. From the look in his eyes, she could tell how much that turned him on. She may have been the first to moan, but she had a feeling she could quickly even the score right here, so she boldly flicked her tongue around the tip of his finger and gave him a look that unmistakably said how much more fun it would be if her mouth was somewhere else instead.

Damon tangled his hand in her hair and stopped her. His eyes were dark and intense as he looked at her. "Do you want to hear me say it, Elena? I want you. Now."

Elena felt her entire body go instantly hot.

"I want you too."

Elena thought the elevator was too slow.

"You shouldn't have requested the tenth floor."

Fumble. Fumble.

"The view is nice."

Zipper.

"It takes too long."

More flumbling. Gasp.

"Jesus, this thing keeps getting in the way."

Loud rip.

"You are in a hurry, aren't you?"

Sharp intake of breath. "Oh, yes…"

Moan. Hands gripping rail. Heavy breathing.

"Screw it, I don't care…do it here, Damon. Now."

Wicked laugh.

"Not yet."

"You are going to pay for this."

Devilish grin

"I certainly hope so."

Damon pressed Elena against the door to their room as he slid the key card into the lock. When he heard the familiar click, he grabbed Elena by the waist and pulled her into the room with him. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Tonight is perfect. Thank you."

She kissed him. Before Damon knew it, they had made their way to the bed. The lights were low and ambient. He peered into Elena's eyes and saw that familiar mix of daring and mischief.

"Take off your dress," he said.

"Oh, really?"

Then she shrugged nonchalantly. "Easy enough. You already ripped the zipper in the elevator." With her shrug and the simple tug of one strap, the dress fell to the floor.

Interesting.

And here he had thought she looked amazing in the dress.

Damon's eyes travelled from her black lacy bra to her thong. And she still wore her high heels.

"You are beautiful," he whispered.

With a slight kick of her leg, Elena nudged the dress out of her way. She wrapped her arms around Damon, one hand at the back of his head, and threaded her fingers through his hair.

"I love you, Damon Salvatore," she said softly.

Damon looked deep into those brown doe eyes.

This woman drove him absolutely crazy.

With a grin, he scooped her up and tossed her onto the bed.

Because tonight, she was his.

For nearly an hour they teased one another, until Elena finally caved and grabbed a condom off the nightstand.

Damon hooked one of her legs around his waist and grabbed her hand. "Put it on me," he whispered, nearly a groan.

So she did.

Then Damon threw her other leg around his waist and pinned her arms around her head. As he moved over her, Damon told her to open her eyes and look at him, and she thought the moment couldn't get any better.

Then he held her face between his hands and whispered her name, and she knew it just did.


	20. Epilogue

"She is lovely, Damon."

"Yes, she is."

Damon and Lillian Salvatore were sharing the glider on Giuseppe's galerie in Mystic Falls. It was a hot, still, humid Labour Day. They were resting in the shade while Giuseppe was giving the others fishing lessons at the end of his pier.

Damon wondered about the origin of the hunk of meat his father was using for bait.

"What I mean is," Lillian said, "Elena is lovely on the inside."

"I know what you meant. That is what I meant, too."

Lillian laughed. "All the same, it hasn't escaped your notice that your girlfriend is gorgeous."

He smiled with guilty pride, like a little boy who had just hit his first home run through the neighbour's window. "No. That hasn't escaped my notice."

He watched as Elena listened intently to Giuseppe, followed his instructions with the determination of a neophyte, then smiled happily when he complimented her.

God, he loved her. He loved her so much it frightened him.

"You two have been together for some time now," Lillian remarked.

"Yeah, it is almost a year now." He leaned forward to set his empty soft-drink can on an upended barrel. "Time flies."

"Have you thought about getting married?" Lillian asked.

"Hey, I caught one!"

The shout drew their attention to the pier before Damon could respond, where his brother Stefan was holding up his catch for the others to envy and admire. His wife, Valarie walked towards him to take the fish off the hook for him.

Damon smiled. "Stefan looks happy."

"You could be the same too. Get married and start a family." Chuckling, she added. "Your father and I don't mind having another grandkid."

"Don't worry, marriage is definitely in the plan," Damon said, feeling his lips forming a smile.

It was ridiculous how often he smiled these days.

"I'm so glad for your happiness, Damon."

"Thanks."

Elena walked towards them and sat next to him. She smiled at Lillian. "Can I hold the baby?"

"I'm sure she will let you," Damon replied. "As long as you know what you are doing with the baby."

"Gee thanks, Damon." Elena made a face. "I'm actually quite nervous. I would probably make her start screaming bloody murder."

Damon laughed. "Good point."

Elena pouted, but before she could change her mind and make an utter fool out of herself while traumatizing a baby, Stefan and Giuseppe returned from whatever they were doing.

Valarie sat beside Elena and carried the baby. "You will get used to dealing with a baby when you have one yourself."

Elena smiled and she couldn't stop herself from looking at Damon.

God, she loved him.

Life was never predictable. You could meet thousands of people, and none of them really touch you. And then you met one person, and your life was changed.

He leaned into her, stretching his arm along the back of her chair. Tipping his chin down, he whispered into her ear, "If you keep looking at me like that, we are going to miss this whole family get together."

"And why would we miss the family get together?" she whispered back.

His hand curled around her bare shoulder. "Because we will be making use of that caravan we rented for the weekend. Or the nearby bathroom."

Elena bit down on her lip, enticed more than she should have been by that idea. "You are so bad."

"And you…" He kissed her temple. "…are freaking gorgeous in that dress. Have I told you that yet?"

Her lips curved up as she reached over, wrapping her hand around his. "Yes. A couple of times."

"Well, add one more to that list." He squeezed her hand. "You look stunning."

Stefan sighed. "You two are going to give me diabetes."

"Shush it." Valarie planted her elbow in Stefan's side. "You are just as sickeningly sweet, so don't even pretend."

Elena and Damon laughed, mainly because Stefan didn't deny it.

The day flew by far too quickly.

It was after one o'clock by the time they finally left the galarie. Damon and Elena walked to a nearby beachside café, which led to lunch and afternoon drinks, and by the time they headed back to Giuseppe's house they were both feeling good and warm and maybe just the slightest bit sunburned.

When they were inside their room, Damon kissed Elena's cheek. "I brought you a present, and you have exercised enormous restraint by not mentioning it, although I know you saw it."

"I thought you should choose the time to give it to me," she said demurely. "Besides, how was I to know it was for me?"

Chuckling, he took out a gift box from his luggage.

"What's the occasion?" she asked.

He opened the box. "Will you spend forever with me?"

Elena gasped. Inside the box was a beautiful diamond ring.

"You are the most amazing person I have ever met, Elena," Damon whispered. "I do not have the words to tell you how much I love you. But I do love you and I will for the rest of my life and beyond."

"Oh my Lord," she murmured, grinning.

Damon chuckled.

"I'm waiting for your answer, Miss Gilbert."

Elena voice trembled as she spoke. "I will spend forever with you, Damon Salvatore."

Tears filled her eyes. Without saying a word, Damon smoothed his thumb under her eye, chasing the tear away, and opened a future she hadn't necessarily planned for but eagerly anticipated.

Damon lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her softly, and in that kiss were all the words she had heard him spoken to her all those months ago.

 _I always want to be here with you._

 _I see a future for us._

 _I love you._

Damon had spoken the words before, many times in the last couple of months, but they were also promised in that kiss, and that promise spelled forever.

 _THE END_


End file.
